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(ptinceton  J^eofo^tcaf  ^etninarg 

BV  4905  .P3  1891 
Palmer,  B.  M.  1818-1902. 
The  broken  home 


i 


THE  BROKEN  HOME; 


-OR— 


Lessons   in   Sofpow, 


— BY— 


B.  M.  PALMER,  Pastor, 


FIRST  PRESBYTERIAN  CHURCH, 


NEW  ORLEANS,  LA. 


SECOND   EDITION— 1891. 


E.  S    UPTON, 

Religious    Book    Depository, 

New  Orleans,  La. 


Entered,  accoiding  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 

1890,  by 

E.  S.    UPTON, 

In  the  office  of  the  Libraian  of  Congress,  at  Wash* 

ington. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

The  following  pages  are  committed  to  the  Press, 
after  no  little  mental  conflict.  The  •'  stricken  deer," 
says  Cowper,  withdraws 

••To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades  :" 
and  so  the  mourner  should  hide  his   wound   beneath 
his  mantle.     But  the  Free-Masonry  of  those  in  sorrow 
would  pour  the  balm  into   other   hearts  which   the 
Spirit  of  Consolation  may  have  given  to  each. 

From  the  simple  desire  of  comforting  those  who 
mourn,  this  story  of  repeated  bereavements  is  here 
told.  It  is  proper  to  add,  that  the  conversations  re- 
ported in  these  sketches  are  copied  verbatim  from 
notes  taken  at  the  time.  They  are  recited  without 
enlargement  or  embellishment,  that  they  may  be  the 
more  touching  from  their  simplicity.  Long-treasured 
memories  are  now  scattered  upon  the  winds,  with  the 
prayer  that  they  may  help  to  "  bind  up  the  broken- 
hearted." The  Author. 


"  Oh,  haunted  soul, 
Down  whose  dim  corridors  forever  roll 
The  voices  of  the  dead  ;  whose  holy  ground 
Re-echoes,  at  the  midnight  hour,  with  sound 
Of  feet  that  long  ago  were  laid  to  rest, 
Yet  trouble  thee  forever  !     Lo,  a  guest 
Is  waiting  at  the  gate  ;  and  unto  Him 
Thou  shalt  bemoan  thy  Dead,  and  He  will  take 
Sweet  words  and  comfort  thee.     Thine  eyes  are  dim, 
But  stretch  thine  hands  to  Him  ;   He  will  not  break 
The  bruised  reed." 


I. 


"  A  little  fondling  thing,  that  to  my  breast 
Clung  always,  either  in  quiet  or  unrest." 

The  morning  was  opening  its  eye  in  the 
first  gray  streak  upon  the  horizon,  when  a 
faint  cry  issued  from  an  upper  chamber  in 
one  of  our  Southern  cities.  Instantly  the 
hurried  steps  were  arrested,  of  one  pacing 
uneasily  to  and  fro  in  the  hall  beneath.  It 
was  a  cry  which,  when  once  heard,  is  never 
forgotten  ;  the  low,  flat  wail  of  a  babe  just 
entering  a  world  to  which  it  is  a  stranger — 
the  symbol  of  pain,  premonitory  of  all  it 
must  suffer  between  the  cradle  and  the 
grave.  It  fell  now,  for  the  first  time,  upon 
ears  which  had  ached  through  the  weary 
night  to  catch  the  sound.  The  long  sus- 
pense was  over ;  and  the  deep  sympathy 
which  had  taken  up  into  the  soul  the  an- 
guish that  another  felt  in  the  body,  gave 
place  to  exultation  when  the  great  peril 


6  tHE   BROKEN   HOME  ;    OR 

was  passed.  The  young  father  bowed 
himself  on  the  spot  where  he  stood,  and 
poured  out  an  over-charged  heart  in  grate- 
ful praise  to  Him  who  had  softened  the 
curse  to  "woman,  who,  being  deceived, 
was  in  the  transgression,"  by  the  gracious 
"notwithstanding  she  shall  be  saved  in 
child-bearing,  if  they  continue  in  faith  and 
charity  and  holiness  with  sobriety." 

Solemn  thoughts  crowd  together  in  the 
first  parental  consciousness :  thoughts  that 
deepen  in  significance  afterward  ;  but  never 
so  startling  as  when  they  rush  upon  the 
soul  in  the  first  experience  of  the  new  re- 
lation. Shall  they  be  embalmed  in  speech  ? 
Thousands  in  the  rehearsal  will  recall  the 
earliest  flush  of  those  emotions. 

' '  Little  miniature  of  myself — bone  and 
flesh  of  my  own  substance — to  whom  I 
stand,  as  the  instrumental  cause  of  thy  being, 
a  secondary  creator !  Claiming  by  equal 
right  the  ancestral  name,  and  wresting  it 
from  me  when  I  am  low  in  death  !  Soon 
to  be  strong  and  tall  as  I — coming  each 
day  more  into  the  foreground,  and  pushing 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  7 

me  nearer  to  the  edge  over  which  I  must 
topple  at  the  last !  Sole  occupant  then  of 
all  my  trusts ;  the  mysterious  link  that 
binds  me  to  the  generations  that  follow,  in 
whom  all  my  earthly  immortality  resides  ; 
and  passing  me  on  but  as  a  figure  in  the 
continuous  succession  !  And  yet,  in  all  this 
formidable  rivalry,  I  clasp  this  first-born  to 
my  heart  with  not  the  least  infusion  of 
jealousy. 

* '  Little  stranger,  comest  thou  to  solve 
or  to  darken  the  mystery  of  marriage  ? 
Even  at  the  fountain,  the  stream  was  parted 
in  two  heads  in  the  dualism  of  sex.  Great 
enigma  of  Nature,  lying  just  at  the  begin- 
ning :  man's  unity  broken  by  the  separate- 
ness  of  woman — yet  preserved  in  her  de- 
rivation from  his  side,  ideally  existing  still 
in  him  from  whom  she  .was  taken.  The 
complementary  parts  are  reintegrated  into 
the  whole  by  a  mystical  union  which  blends 
the  two  spiritually  into  one.  And  now  the 
joint  life  issues  in  a  birth :  the  child  gathers 
into  itself  the  double  being  from  which 
it   sprung,   and   diversity   returns  to    the 


8  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

unity  whence  it  emerged.  Strange  recon- 
ciliation of  Nature's  contradictions — this 
third,  in  whom  the  one  and  the  two  are 
brought  together  again.  Tiny  infant  as 
thou  art,  thou  dost  yet  interpret  the  sym- 
bol of  marriage  to  those  who  produced 
thee. 

"  An  immortal  soul,  with  dormant 
powers  that  by  and  by  will  compass  the 
universe ;  now  soaring  to  the  cope-stone 
of  heaven,  and  measuring  the  stars  ;  now 
turning  the  stone-leaves  which  beneath  the 
earth  record  the  histories  of  countless 
cycles.  A  soul  which  will  at  last  strip  off 
the  encumbrance  of  clay,  and  sweep  with 
exploring  wing  the  vast  eternity  where 
God  makes  His  dwelling  place.  And  I 
must  stoop  beneath  this  wing  and  teach  its 
first  flight,  that  will  rise  higher  and  higher 
in  the  far  forever. 

"  A  soul,  alas,  born  under  the  curse  of 
sin,  through  me  the  guilty  channel.  And 
I  must  stand  in  the  holy  priesthood  ap- 
point d  of  God,  between  it  and  eternal 
death.     My  soul  must  be  in  its  soul's  stead, 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  0 

and  feel  for  it  the  Law's  penal  frown.  My 
faith  must  lay  her  hand  upon  the  covenant, 
*  I  will  be  a  God  to  thee  and  to  thy  seed 
after  thee  ;  '  and  plead  the  force  of  that 
great  instrument  with  all  the  agony  of 
human  intercession." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that,  like  rolling 
waves,  flooded  the  heart  of  the  young  pas- 
tor ;  who  found  in  these  new  responsibilities 
a  divinity  school,  with  richer  teachings 
than  that  which  had  trained  and  sent  him 
forth  to  his  lifework.  A  grand  theology 
was  forming  itself  out  of  these  experiences  ; 
where  every  thought  was  turned  into 
prayer,  and  knowledge  glided  into  wor- 
ship. With  muffled  tread  he  ascended  the 
stairway ;  and  stood  beside  one  who  in  the 
shaded  Hght  was  pale  as  the  sheet  on  which 
she  lay.  A  new  word  was  born  upon  his 
lips,  which  softly  whispered,  "  Mother, 
we  are  three." 

Two  and  twenty  months  rolled  away, 
and  the  boy  grew.  Ah  !  there  are  proud 
moments  in  every  man's  domestic  life.  It 
is  an  epoch  when  before  the  altar  he  feels 


lO  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

the  trust  trembling  upon  his  arm,  of  the 
gentle  being  who  dares  with  him  to  face 
life's  great  uncertainty —  a  trust  the 
stronger,  because  it  trembles.  In  rude 
boyhood  I  once  snared  a  dove.  But  when 
it  turned  its  soft  eyes  upward,  and  I  felt 
upon  my  palm  the  throb  of  its  frightened 
heart,  I  relented  and  cast  it  forth  to  the 
freedom  of  its  own  wing  again.  It  was 
God's  way  of  teaching  gentleness,  even 
through  a  bird  ;  and  the  lesson  went  down 
into  the  character  which  it  helped  to  mould. 
But  this  confiding  heart,  which  beat  against 
my  own  in  that  hour  of  vows,  fluttered  with 
no  pulse  of  fear ;  only  with  an  awe  over- 
shadowing the  supreme  moment  in  which 
the  after  years  are  wedged,  and  their  dark 
contingencies ;  and  it  was  the  pride  of 
honest  manhood  that  fixed  the  resolve,  to 
conquer  life  for  her  and  to  make  its  very 
harshness  smooth. 

So,  too,  with  a  proud  joy  the  father 
tosses  his  first-born  into  the  air,  and  re- 
ceives him  back  screaming  with  delight,  in 
utter  unconsciousness  of  any  peril.     This 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  II 

strange  commingling  of  robust  mirth  with 
childhood's  rollicking  gaiety,  are  they  not 
threads  woven  into  the  family  life  every- 
where ?  And  then  the  more  thoughtful 
pride  with  which  a  father  bends  over  the 
sleeping  babe  and  casts  its  horoscope. 
Life,  short  though  it  be,  is  it  not  filled  with 
mere  repetitions  ?  We  scarcely  begin  to 
realize  the  prophecies  of  our  own  youth, 
before  we  drop  into  the  lives  of  our  chil- 
dren in  dreamy  anticipations  of  their  future. 
Thus  during  these  twenty  months  pious 
hopes  were  springing  up  in  this  young 
father's  musing.  Through  generations  co- 
eval with  the  history  of  the  country,  as  far 
back  as  the  lineage  could  be  traced,  the 
prophet's  mantle  had  rested  upon  an  honor- 
able ancestry.  From  sire  to  son  the  oil  of 
consecration  had  been  poured  on  those  who, 
as  ambassadors  of  Christ,  had  besought 
men  to  be  reconciled  unto  God.  Would 
the  blessed  succession  be  continued  in  the 
generations  to  come  ?  At  the  entrance  of 
his  own  calling,  he  looked  through  the 
vista  of  years  to  the  goal  when  he  must  lay 


12  THE    BROKEN    HOME)    OR 

it  down ;  and  with  the  fervor  of  his  own 
consecration,  he  prayed  that  the  family- 
traditions  might  be  preserved  in  this  scion 
of  a  priestly  line. 

Ah,  ye  who  pray,  know  ye  the  mode  in 
which  the  answer  is  returned?  "We 
walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight;"  and  it  needs 
a  purged  eye  to  read  the  faithfulness  of 
God  in  our  bitter  disappointments.  Whilst 
in  visions  of  the  future  the  young  minister 
was  casting  his  robe  of  office  upon  the  child 
of  his  loins,  an  angel's  wing  touched  the 
babe  and  dropped  into  its  cradle  the  call  to 
higher  ministries  beyond  the  stars.  It  was 
seen  in  the  earthly  blight  which  shrivelled 
up  the  little  form,  until  the  loose  flesh 
lapped  over  the  thin  bones  like  an  unfitting 
garment.  The  hunger  of  disease  could 
find  nothing  for  its  insatiate  voracity,  but 
the  juices  of  the  body  on  which  it  fed  ;  and 
the  breathing  skeleton  lay  at  length  upon 
a  pillow  on  the  mother's  lap.  How  old 
the  child  grew  in  two  short  months,  and 
how  tall  its  little  limbs  became  !  Every 
trace  of  infantile  beauty  was  effaced,  only 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  1$ 

the  golden  curls  floated  over  the  pale: 
brow  ;  and  the  brilliant  eyes  which  strangers 
in  the  street  stooped  to  gaze  upon,  burned 
now  with  a  feverish  lustre.  Half  closed  in 
the  uneasy  sleep  of  sickness,  even  death 
itself  could  not  seal  them  up.  In  his  very 
coffin  they  peered  out  from  beneath  the 
soft  lashes  with  what  looked  so  much  like 
thoughtfulness,  that  a  creeping  came  over 
the  observer;  wondering  whether  pain, 
could  be  a  teacher,  or  if  death  could  im-- 
press  what  seemed  so  like  the  reflection  of 
knowledge.  It  is  more  than  forty  years 
since  then,  and  the  frost  of  winter  has 
whitened  the  hairs  upon  that  father's  head  ; 
but  across  the  stretch  of  all  those  years 
two  hazel  eyes,  bright  as  coals  of  Juniper, 
still  burn  before  his  vision ;  and  the  mem- 
ory is  fresh  as  yesterday  of  that  oldish  look, 
coming  out  of  eternity  and  resting  upon 
that  dying  infant.  Ah  !  who  can  tell  how 
the  two  worlds  may  overlap  at  the  border 
where  they  touch;  or  the  way  of  "the 
free  Spirit "  in  His  dealing  with  a  soul 
standing  at  the   gates    of  Heaven  ?     The 


14  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

great  mystery  of  death,  howit  swallows  up 
the  lesser  mysteries  of  life  which  are  so 
perplexing  !  Reader,  in  that  narrow  hour 
we  shall  touch  them  all ;  and  the  great 
revelation  will  come  next  after,  in  the  light 
of  the  Throne. 

Hope  and  fear  kept  the  scales  evenly  in 
the  balance,  for  a  time ;  but  at  length  the 
beam  went  down,  and  fear  deepened  into 
anguish.  As  the  grim  certainty  became 
each  day  more  sure,  there  was  another 
pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  little  room  where 
the  oil  was  beaten  for  the  sanctuary ;  and 
solemn  questions  came  up  from  beneath 
the  Judgment  seat,  and  shook  the  heart  of 
him  who  felt  that  he  was  sponsor  for  his 
child. 

"This  little  soul  which  I  had  hoped  to 
lead  through  knowledge  up  to  God,  must 
I  not  lead  it  still  in  another  way,  seeing 
that  He  caHs  for  it  from  above  ?  Ah, 
Saviour,  if  this  be  Thy  voice  saying  as  of 
old,  "  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven," 
who  am  I  that  I  should  forbid  ?  If  to  be 
taken    into   Thine   arms    is  to  be  blessed 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  1 5 

forever,  then,  like  the  Hebrew  mothers, 
let  me  bring  this  little  one  to  Thee, 
even  in  death,  for  the  great  benediction. 
Oh,  troubled  heart,  be  still,  and  learn 
that  no  selfishness  can  be  in  love ; 
that  He  who  loves  his  Master  with- 
holds nothing,  when  He  has  need  of  it ; 
and  he  who  loves  his  child  will  sink  all 
sense  of  loss  in  the  everlasting  gain  to  it, 
of  lying  safe  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Shep- 
herd." Thus  the  sharp  struggle  between 
nature  and  grace  was  ended  in  the  submis- 
sion which  said,  "  not  my  will,  but  thine, 
be  done. "  It  was  the  first  lesson  that  came 
out  of  the  first  sorrow. 

Was  this  submission  hard  to  learn  ?  Yet 
it  was  implicitly  contained  in  the  full  sur- 
render of  the  soul  to  God  in  penitence  and 
faith,  long  before  made.  It  was  only  the 
bringing  out,  in  special  form,  Avhat  had  in 
principle  been  wrought  within  by  the  Spirit 
of  God.  The  life  of  the  seed  can  only  pass 
into  the  life  of  "he  plant,  under  the  patient 
discipline  of  nature  ;  and  so  the  principial 
virtue  implanted  in  the  new  birth  passes. 


i6  TilE    BROKEN    HOME;    OK 

only  under  the  discipline  of  grace,  into  the 
active  experience  of  the  believer.  But  if 
this  lesson  was  taught  the  father  and  the 
Christian,  there  was  another  which  entered 
into  the  lifework  of  the  pastor  and  teacher. 
This  child,  could  it  suffer  thus  except 
under  the  law  of  sin  ?  Could  death  seize 
upon  it,  except  it  lay  beneath  the  curse  ? 
No  article  of  faith  was  more  firmly  held  by 
him  than  this,  "By  one  man  sin  entered 
into  the  world,  and  death  by  sin  ;  and  so 
•  death  passed  upon  all  men,  for  that  all 
have  sinned  ;  "  and  this,  "  Death  reigned 
from  Adam  to  Moses,  even  over  them 
that  had  not  sinned  after  the  similitude  of 
Adam's  transgression,  which  is  the  figure 
of  Him  that  was  to  come."  It  was,  how- 
ever, no  cold  abstraction  lying  in  the  black- 
letter  of  a  creed,  but  a  living  and  fearful 
responsibility  which  now  rolled  itself  upon 
the  conscience. 

Thus  he  soliloquized:  "This  suffering 
infant  is  through  me  the  heir  of  human 
guilt,  and  derives  from  me  a  nature  stained 
with  thfe  defilement  of  sin.     How,  then, 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  tj 

shall  it  appear  before  the  God  of  dreadful 
holiness?  If  through  me  it  sustains  this 
relation  to  the  law  and  the  curse,  docs  it 
sustain  through  me  no  relation  to  the  grace 
which  shall  work  its  deliverance  from  both  ? 
If  bound  through  me  a  sinner  in  firm  con- 
nection with  the  first  Adam,  by  whom  is 
*  the  judgment  to  condemnation  ' — do  I  not 
stand,  as  a  believer,  a  link  between  it  and 
the  second  Adam,  by  whom  is  '  the  free 
gift  unto  justification  ?  '  Think,  my  soul, 
of  the  solemn  sponsorship  which  roots 
itself  in  the  parental  relation.  What  did 
it  mean,  when  I  gave  this  child  to  God  in 
the  covenant  of  baptism  ?  When,  on  its 
behalf,  I  confessed  the  sinful  estate  in  which 
it  was  born,  and  its  need  of  redemption  by 
the  blood  of  Christ?  What  did  Jehovah 
mean  when  He  responded  in  the  gracious 
promise,  '  I  will  be  a  God  to  thy  seed  after 
thee  ? '  What  did  it  mean  when,  with  the 
water  of  consecration  upon  its  brow,  the 
Lord  placed  the  infant  in  my  arms  and 
said,  '  Nurse  it  for  me  and  I  will  give  thee 
thy   wages  ?  '      And  when   in   the  public 


1 8  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

assembly  I  vowed  to  train  it  in  the  nurture 
and  admonition  of  the  Lord,  as  belongin^j 
to  Him  and  to  Him  alone?  Was  this  an 
idle  ceremony  of  the  Church,  only  the 
dramatic  form  in  which  she  chose  to  cast 
her  teaching?  Or  was  it  rather  a  true 
covenant  which  the  great  and  mighty  God 
made  with  me  and  with  my  house  ;  that  in 
like  manner  as  by  the  law  of  nature  the 
curse  descended  through  me  upon  my  off- 
spring, so  by  the  law  of  grace  the  blessing 
should  entail,  through  the  operation  of  my 
faith,  upon  the  children  of  my  loins?  " 

In  the  opening  of  a  minstry  which  God 
designed  to  be  long  upon  earth,  this  death 
of  his  first-born  let  the  young  Pastor  down 
into  the  mysteries  of  that  covenant  which 
he  should  afterward  expound.  But  not 
}-et  did  it  crystallize  in  any  form  of  doc- 
trine. It  lay  upon  his  heart  only  as  a  tre- 
mendous fact,  that,  in  all  these  solemn 
transactions  of  grace,  he  stood  for  his  child  ; 
and  that  his  faith  must  lay  hold  upon  the 
covenant  in  its  behalf,  and  plead  for  its 
salvation  in  some  sort  as  he  once  pleaded 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  I9 

for  his  own.  Under  these  convictions  it  did 
not  suffice  coolly  to  assume  that  infants, 
dyings  before  they  can  discern  between 
good  and  evil,  are  saved  from  death  eter- 
nal by  the  simple  necessity  of  the  case. 
This  might  be  so  ;  or,  better  still,  the  early 
removal  of  such  before  the  possibility  of 
actual  transgression  may  be  the  pledge  of 
their  election  through  grace,  and  the  pre 
cise  condition  upon  which  their  salvation 
must  turn.  These  traditional  beliefs  liad 
long  been  cherished  by  him  before  whom 
deeper  views  were  now  opening,  and  had 
wrought  themselves  as  firm  convictions  in 
his  soul.  But  something  more  than  bare 
opinion  was  needed  to  sustain  one  who 
stood  confronted  by  a  double  sponsorship 
under  the  law  of  nature  and  of  grace.  By 
the  one,  he  became  the  channel  through 
which  a  corrupt  nature  was  transmitted  ; 
by  the  other,  he  was  solemnly  constituted 
the  representative  of  his  offspring  in  the 
eternal  covenant  which  pledged  eternal 
life  to  the  faith  which  would  accept  its 
provisions.      The  one  transaction    was  as 


iO  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

real  as  the  other;  and  while  the  spiritual 
life  was  not  conveyed  through  carnal 
descent  like  the  spiritual  death,  yet  the 
law  of  gract,  which  evermore  demands 
faith  of  its  recipient,  seems  to  require  its 
vicarious  exercise  for  such  as  in  the  cove- 
nant were  dealt  with  by  and  through  a 
sponsor.  To  this  father,  at  least,  the  bap- 
tismal vow  meant  that,  if  it  meant  anything 
at  all.  It  became  him  now  to  put  his  soul 
in  the  stead  of  his  first-born.  He  must  feel 
the  shame  of  that  dishonor  which  sin  had 
cast  upon  it.  He  must  take  upon  his  con- 
science the  burden  of  its  guilt,  to  confess 
and  bewail  it  before  God.  Having  learned 
for  himself  to  rest  upon  the  atonement  of 
Christ  for  pardon  and  eternal  life,  he  must 
now  exercise  this  faith  for  the  child,  which 
the  child  cannot  exercise  for  itself  He 
must  plead  in  its  behalf  the  Divine  promise 
which,  under  the  constitution  of  grace,  he 
had  been  appointed  a  sponsor  to  plead. 
Unspeakably  solemn  was  the  trust,  when 
the  reality  of  it  came  to  be  understood  and 
felt.     More  than  the  life   of  a  generation 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  21 

has  passed,  since  he  thus  bowed  himself 
before  God  with  an  agony  of  wrestling 
scarcely  less  than  that  with  which  he  prayed 
in  the  hour  of  his  first  conviction  as  a  sin- 
ner ;  but  all  eternity  will  never  efface  the 
impression  then  made  upon  his  spirit,  nor 
undo  the  influence  which  it  exerted  upon 
his  whole  Christian  experience  afterward. 
Days  were  spent  in  wrestling  intercession — 
days  which  were  darkened  with  awe  under 
a  sense  of  this  fearful  trust ;  until  at  length 
a  peace  broke  upon  the  soul,  like  the  peace 
which  first  lifted  the  burden  of  sin  in  his 
own  conversion.  A  blessed  token  was  en- 
joyed that  his  prayers  had  gone  up  as  a 
memorial  before  God ;  and  he  sat  beside 
his  dying  boy  with  the  strong  comfort  of 
believing  that  the  promise  of  the  covenant 
was  assured  to  his  seed  forever.  Other 
children  were  born  later,  who  lived  to  grow 
up  and  confess  Christ  for  themselves  before 
tlie  world.  But  never  from  this  moment 
did  a  shade  of  doubt  cloud  his  faith — that 
He  who  had  gathered  so  early  the  first- 
fruits    of   his    household   into  His  garner, 


22  THE   BROKEN   HOME  ;    OR 

would  gather  the  increase  when  that,  too, 
should  be  ripe.  And  this  was  the  second 
lesson,  solemn  yet  gracious,  which  came 
out  of  the  first  sorrow  ;  teaching  what  it 
was  to  be  a  Christian  father,  standing  be- 
fore God  the  representative  of  his  offspring. 
Nineteen  years  bright  with  happiness  and 
love  had  chased  far  away  the  gloom  of  that 
bereavement.  Even  the  memory  of  it 
grew  faint,  as  it  shaded  off  in  the  distance; 
or  when  recalled,  was  recalled  without  a 
pang  for  the  richness  of  the  blessing  that 
lay  in  it  and  had  sanctified  the  years  which 
came  after.  It  was  destined  to  be  brought 
near  again,  by  a  relic  which  the  grave  itself 
should  yield.  Nineteen  years  of  sunshine, 
and  then  the  voice  of  weeping  was  heard 
again.  Another  grave  must  be  dug,  to 
receive  the  second-born.  She  was  laid  to 
rest  in  a  beautiful  cemetery,  upon  the  bank 
of  a  stream  whose  gentle  flow  murmured  a 
soft  and  constant  dirge  over  the  sleepers 
by  its  side.  It  was  a  new  City  of  the 
Dead,  which  taste  and  art  sought  to  adorn  : 
vain  tribute  of  love  to  those  who  heed  it 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  23 

not.  "  Let  the  two  lie  together,"  said  the 
parents  as  they  wept :  and  we  will  carve 
upon  the  marble  of  the  one, 

"  The  little  angel  smiled  and  slept  ;  " 

and  upon  the  marble  of  the  other, 

"  She  who,  gentie  as  a  saint, 
Ne'er  gave  us  pain." 

And  so  the  pick-axe  and  the  shovel  threv/ 
aside  the  earth  which  for  many  years  had 
pressed  upon  the  bosom  of  the  infant. 
Only  a  few  bones  and  the  little  skull.  No, 
wait  a  second ;  and  with  trembling  hand 
the  father  clipped  one  little  curl  from  which 
the  lustre  had  faded,  but  twining  still 
around  the  hollow  temple.  He  placed  it 
on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  without  a  word, 
before  the  eye  of  the  mother.  With  a 
smothered  cry  she  fell  upon  his  neck — 
"It  is  our  boy's  ;  I  see  it  as  long  ago,  the 
soft  lock  that  curled  upon  his  temple." 
' '  Take  it,  mother  ;  it  is  to  us  the  prophecy 
of  the  Resurrection  ;  the  grave  has  not  the 
power  to  destroy. "  The  old  tears  were 
wept  again  ;  but  through  them  God  made 
the  rainbow  to  shine. 


i4  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

The  following  lines,  which  may  be  found 
in  the  Biography  of  Mr.  Webster,  are  not 
generally  known.  Beneath  the  rugged 
versification  lurks  a  genuine  pathos  ;  show- 
ing the  great  statesman  not  to  have  been 
destitute  of  the  sentiment  which  marks  the 
Poet: 

•'  My  Son  !  thou  wast  my  lieart's  delight, 
Thy  morn  of  life  was  gay  and  cheery  ; 
That  morn  has  rushed  to  sudden  night, 
Thy  father's  hou<e  is  sad  and  dreary. 

•■  I  held  thee  on  my  knee,  my  Son, 
And  kissed  thee  laughing,  kissed  ihee  weeping; 
But  ah,  thy  little  day  is  done, 
Thou'rt  with  thy  angel  sister  sleeping. 

"  The  staff  on  which  my  years  should  lean 
Is  broken,  ere  those  years  come  o'er  me; 
My  funeral  rites  thou  shouldst  have  seen, 
But  thou  art  in  the  grave  before  me. 

"  Thou  rear'st  to  me  no  filial  stone, 

No  parent's  grave  with  tears  beholdest ; 

Thou  art  my  Ancestor,  my  Son, 

And  stand'st  in  Heaven's  account  the  oldest. 

••  On  earth  my  lot  was  soonest  cast, 
Thy  generation  after  mine  ; 
Thou  hast  thy  predecessor  past — 
Earlier  Eternity  is  thine. 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  2$ 

"  I  should  have  set  before  thine  eyes 

The  road  to  Heaven,  and  showed  it  clear ; 
But  thou  untaught  spring'st  to  the  skies, 
And  leav'st  thy  teacher  lingering  here. 

*•  Sweet  Seraph,  I  would  learn  of  thee, 
And  hasten  to  partake  thy  bliss  ; 
And  oh,  to  thy  world  welcome  me. 
As  first  I  welcomed  thee  to  this. 

"  Dear  Angel,  thou  art  safe  in  Heaven  ; 
No  prayers  for  thee  need  more  be  made; 
Oh,  let  thy  prayers  for  those  be  given 
Who  oft  have  blessed  thy  infant  head. 

"  My  Father,  I  beheld  thee  born. 

And  led  thy  tottering  steps  with  care ; 
Before  me  risen  to  Heaven's  bright  morn, 
My  Son,  my  Father,  guide  me  there." 


II. 

*'  Eut  lying  darkly  between. 

Winding  down  through  the  night, 
Is  the  dim  and  unknown  stream 
That  leads  at  last  to  the  light." 

Months  elapsed  before  the  voice  of  child- 
hood broke  the  oppressive  stillness.  A 
daughter  was  then  clasped  to  the  mother's 
breast,  who  said:  "This  now  shall  com- 
fort us  for  our  first-born,  whom  the  Lord 
has  taken."  The  cloud  had  drifted  away 
which  threw  the  first  shadow  upon  us,  and 
the  sky  was  bright  with  the  smile  of  God 
for  nineteen  years.  The  little  comforter 
who  crept  first  into  our  hearts,  in  due  time 
gave  her  sisterly  welcome  to  others  who 
came  after  ;  until  a  group  of  five  daughters 
chased  away  the  gloom  of  the  early  death, 
and  the  house  rang  again  with  gladness  and 
song.  Almost  the  half  of  wedded  life  was 
spent  without  a  tear  to  moisten  the  eye,  or  a 


28  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OI< 

pang  to  pierce  the  heart.  The  infinitely 
wise  Father  abov^e  will  educate  us  for 
Heaven  and  Himself  through  joy  as  well 
as  sorrow.  Under  the  double  influence  of 
the  sunshine  and  the  rain  the  fruitful  earth 
will  yield  her  increase  to  the  husbandman. 
But  the  smile  and  the  tear,  do  they  sim- 
ply succeed  each  other  ?  Or  is  the  one 
the  fountain  from  which  the  other  flows  ? 
Is  there  a  joy  on  earth,  which  does  not 
hide  in  its  bosom  the  kindred  grief  that 
shall  presently  flood  the  soul  ?  Within  the 
bloom,  lies  the  blight  of  every  flower — 
within  the  life,  lies  hid  the  death  of  all  who 
make  us  happy.      As,  on  the   other  hand, 

*'  The  night  is  mother  of  the  day, 
And  winter  of  the  spring  ; 
And  ever  upon  old  decay 
The  greenest  mosses  spring." 

The  baby  girl  that  dropped  upon  us  in  our 
sadness,  brought  a  blessing  with  her  from 
the  skies ;  and  left  a  blessing,  when  she 
went  up  again  to  weave  a  new  tie  for  us 
above.  Her  infancy  was  bright  and  full  of 
cheer,  with  those  little  endearments  which 
make  a  babe  a  sunbeam  in  the  home.    The 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  ig 

development  of  mind  came  on  apace,  with 
the  usual  pride  in  those  precocious  utter- 
ances, which  to  fond  parents  are  the  proofs 
of  infantile  genius.  As  education  ad- 
vanced, she  disclosed  a  quick  understand- 
ing which  gathered  knowledge  with  ease ; 
so  that  under  a  generous  culture  of  eigh- 
teen years  she  was  fitted  to  adorn  any 
station  in  life.  Her  virtues  were  of  the 
quiet  kind :  gentle  and  unobtrusive  in  her 
bearing  she  won  the  affection  of  all,  while 
her  singleness  and  sincerity  of  character 
secured  their  confidence  and  trust.  She 
was  singularly  free  from  all  censoriousness 
of  spirit :  never  indulging  in  the  sharpness 
of  personal  criticism  herself,  it  was  thor- 
oughly distasteful  to  her  in  others.  She 
was  ever  ready  to  palliate  the  faults  which 
drew  forth  the  language  of  censure,  setting 
over  against  these  the  virtues  of  those  who 
were  the  subjects  of  animadversion.  At 
an  early  age  she  united  with  the  Church  of 
God,  and  through  her  brief  life  "  adorned 
the  doctrine  of  God  her  Saviour  in  all 
things."     She    was    one    whose    "faults 


30  THE   BROKEN   HOME;    OK 

leaned  to  virtue's  side:"  and  the  single 
weakness  of  her  character  must  be  empha- 
sized in  order  to  explain  what  will  follow 
in  this  sketch  of  her  dying  hours.  Her 
diffidence  and  humility  deepened  into 
timidity  and  self-distrust  which,  even  in 
her  school-life,  marred  her  happiness.  She 
was  never  satisfied  with  her  preparations 
for  the  class-room,  often  prolonging  her 
studies  to  extreme  weariness  of  body  and 
mind.  Like  the  steed  whose  mettle  fails 
only  with  expiring  life,  I  have  sometimes 
feared  that  this  continued  friction  wore 
upon  her  delicate  and  susceptible  nature  ; 
and  that  the  strain  of  so  much  anxiety  and 
toil  may  have  sapped  the  strength  which 
was  needed  to  resist  the  insidious  disease 
that  so  soon  attacked  her  frame.  It  will 
be  instructive  at  least  to  notice  how  natural 
temperament  often  modifies  our  Christian 
experience,  giving  a  shape  and  color  it 
would  not  otherwise  present.  This  outline 
of  her  recognized  traits  will  introduce  to 
the  reader  the  record  of  her  illness  and 
death. 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  3  I 

In  the  month  of  I\Iay,  1862,  we  first 
noticed  a  slight  cough,  which  we  attributed, 
as  usual,  to  a  cold  ;  and  hoped  it  would 
wear  ofif.  It  increased,  however,  instead 
of  diminishing,  and  was  accompanied  with 
expectoration.  She  began  to  pine  awa}', 
and  complained  of  lassitude.  The  civil 
war  which  then  convulsed  the  country, 
had  thrown  us  from  our  home  ;  but  as  soon 
as  we  had  found  permanent  quarters  as 
refugees,  her  lungs  were  sounded  by  a 
skilful  physician,  who  could  detect  only  a 
little  dullness  at  the  base  of  the  right  lung. 
She  continued  to  decline  throughout  the 
winter,  but  was  able  to  go  about  and  ride 
on  horseback  ;  a  kind  of  exercise  which  we 
encouraged  as  peculiarly  beneficial.  To- 
wards spring  her  appetite,  always  delicate, 
became  capricious ;  and  she  began  to  look 
emaciated. 

Early  in  April,  1863,  her  mother  took 
her  to  the  seaboard,  hoping  that  a  visit  to 
relatives,  with  change  of  scene  and  diet, 
would  rally  her  failing  powers  and  rouse 
her  drooping  spirits.     Instead  of  this  she 


32  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

declined  so  rapidly  that  we  feared  she 
might  not  be  able  to  return.  In  May,  I 
went  for  her,  and  was  comforted  by  the 
apparent  ease  with  which  she  accomplished 
the  journey  back.  But  her  appetite  was 
completely  gone  ;  she  loathed  food  more 
than  physic.  No  delicacies  tempted  her 
palate ;  and  she  hung  for  weeks  at  this 
point,  wasted  to  a  skeleton — getting  no 
better,  and  apparently  no  worse. 

A  certain  service  was  laid  upon  me  by 
the  Church  which  required  my  presence  in 
the  Army  of  Tennessee,  and  I  was  in  great 
mental  conflict  as  to  my  personal  duty. 
Though  I  had  resigned  all  hope  of  her  re- 
covery, it  seemed  probable  that  she  would 
linger  many  months  ;  accordingly  I  resolved 
to  leave  her  with  her  mother  and  with  God. 
But  how  shall  I  describe  the  agony  of  that 
parting  ?  She  wept  convulsively ;  that 
poor  wasted  frame  shook  with  sobs  upon 
that  dying  bed  ;  and  my  heart  was  almost 
as  much  broken  as  her  own.  She  uttered 
only  one  cry:  "  Father,  you  are  going  so 
far,  and  I  am  so  ill."     Oh  !  how  the  words 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  33 

kept  ringing  in  my  ears  amidst  the  drums 
and  cannon  of  the  carrip  ;  and  I  could  not 
but  ask  myself  daily,  if  duty  did  indeed 
require  me  to  be  thus  cruel  to  my  dying 
child.  She  evidently  feared  it  was  a  final 
separation  ;  which,  thanks  to  God,  it  did 
not  prove  to  be.  I  took  advantage  of  the 
confusion  of  the  retreat  from  Shelbyville, 
to  run  home  and  look  upon  the  pale  face 
once  more.  It  was  early  morning  when  I 
arrived,  and  she  was  still  asleep.  Awaking 
in  a  few  moments,  she  burst  into  tears  and 
exclaimed  twice  :  "  I  knew  he  would  come  ; 
I  knew  he  would  come  !  "  Just  as  a  ray 
of  light  illumines  a  dark  room,  so  this  one 
sentence  revealed  to  me  the  thoughts  that 
had  been  passing  through  her  mind.  It 
was  a  word  so  full  of  love,  so  full  of  trust, 
that  I  bowed  over  her  and  wept  like  a  wo- 
man. There  was  another  cause  for  tears : 
my  eyes,  not  beguiled  as  were  the  eyes  of 
others  by  the  gradual  progress  of  the  dis- 
ease, detected  at  once  the  signature  of  the 
tomb  upon  that  smooth  white  brow  ;  and  I 
resolved  instantly  never  to  leave  her  until 


34  I'lIE    BROKEN    home;    OK 

she  was  yielded  in  the  Saviour's  arms. 
This  was  on  the  fourth  of  July;  and  for 
eleven  days  no  presage  of  immediate  death 
was  afforded.  During  the  night  of  the 
fifteenth  violent  pains,  which  had  been  re- 
pressed by  astringent  remedies,  returned 
with  all  their  former  intensity  ;  but  yielded 
to  external  applications,  and  ceased  alto- 
gether about  the  hour  of  breakfast  next 
morning.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
but  we  knew  it  not.  During  the  forenoon 
one  slight  cough  brought  up  a  mouthful  of 
phlegm,  and  was  followed  by  fainting  ar- 
rested only  upon  the  border  of  uncon- 
sciousness. This  occurred  three  times 
during  the  day.  I  thought  the  fainting 
only  nervous  ;  the  mother,  with  the  truer 
instinct  of  her  sex,  saw  in  it  dissolution. 
So  it  proved  ;  for  at  half-past  ten  that  night 
she  was  in  Heaven. 

Throughout  her  sickness  I  had  been 
averse  to  speaking  with  her  on  the  subject 
of  death  :  partly  from  the  confidence  I  felt 
in  her  preparation  for  the  great  change — 
partly  from  unwillingness  to  extinguish  the 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  35 

last  spark  of  hope  which,  in  one  so  feeble, 
I  feared  might  extinguish  the  last  spark  of 
life — but  mainly  from  an  unmanly  weak- 
ness that  sought  to  hide  from  sight  a  truth 
so  unwelcome.  So  much  are  we  like  the 
ruined  bankrupt,  who  has  not  the  courage 
to  look  his  insolvency  fairly  in  the  face. 
I  have  since  deeply  regretted  this  reticence  ; 
since  longer  and  more  frequent  conversa- 
tions might  have  contributed  towards  re- 
moving the  painful  apprehensions  which  I 
afterwards  found  to  burden  her  mind. 

On  Sabbath  afternoon,  July  12th,  under 
a  simple  sense  of  duty,  I  first  broke  through 
this  reserve.  Lying  upon  the  bed  by  her 
side,  the  following  conversation  took  place  : 

*'  My  daughter,  I  would  like  to  know 
what  you  think  of  your  case  ;  do  you 
think  you  will  ever  recover?" 

' '  No,  father,  I  do  not  see  how  it  is  pos- 
sible for  me  to  get  well." 

"  Do  you  feel  then,  F ,  that  you  are 

prepared  to  die  ?" 

"  Yes,  father,  I  hope  I  am  ready  ;  but  I 
feel  so  very  unworthy." 


36  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

' '  What  is  it,  daughter,  that  makes  you 
feci  so  unworthy?" 

"Oh,  I  have  Hved  so  far  below  my 
duty." 

Supposing  that  she  referred  to  neglect 
of  her  accustomed  devotions  since  her  ex- 
treme sickness,  of  which  she  had  spoken 
once  before,  I  said  : 

* '  You  are  too  weak  now  to  attend  to 
these  in  form  ;  it  is  enough  for  you  to  lift 
up  your  heart  to  God  upon  your  bed." 

"  I  do  not  mean  that,"  she  replied  ;  "I 
know  that  God  cares  nothing  for  posture : 
I  refer  to  my  whole  Christian  life  since  I 
joined  the  Church  ;  I  often  fear  that  I  made 
a  profession  of  religion  prematurely  :  when 
I  was  at  school  I  was  obliged  to  sit  up  late 
at  night,  and  was  so  sleepy  that  my  pray- 
ers were  frequently  a  mere  form." 

I  reminded  her  of  Christ's  apology  for 
His  disciples,  when  they  slept  through 
weakness  in  the  Garden  ;  and  said  to  her : 

"  Jesus  is  no  hard  taskmaster — could  He 
not  make  allowance  for  your  infirmity,  as 
well  as  for  that  of  Peter,  James  and  John  ?" 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  37 

"  Yes,  father,  I  sometimes  think  of  that : 
but  I  look  back  on  my  whole  Christian  life, 
and  it  is  worth  just  nothing.  I  have  often 
feared  that  I  may  be  deceived." 

"  Those,"  I  replied,  "  who  dread  being 
deceived  seldom  are  so  ;  because  it  lies  in 
the   nature  of  the  delusion   that   it  is  not 

even  suspected.     But,   F ,    there  is  a 

short  cut  out  of  this  difficulty  ;  for  we  are 
saved  after  all,  not  by  our  goodness,  but 
by  Christ  Jesus,  in  whom  we  believe." 

' '  Oh,  yes,  I  know  that ;  and  there  is  all 
my  hope," 

"  Do  you  feel  then,  my  daughter,  that 
you  place  }^our  whole  trust  in  the  Saviour 
of  sinners  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  feel  that  my  trust  is  in  Christ 
alone." 

"  Well,  then,  you  are  not  afraid  to 
die?" 

"No,  not  exactly  ;  but,  father,  it  is  a 
fearful  thing  to  die." 

"So  it  is,  my  darling,  to  the  impeni- 
tent ;  but  to  God's  children  it  is  but  going 
home." 


38  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     Oli 

"  Yes,  if  we  could  only  have  but  perfect 
assurance  that  we  are  His  children." 

The  above   conversation   was   held  just 

five  days  before  her  death,  and  when  there 

was    no    symptom    of  its  near  approach. 

She  was  apparently  in  the  same  condition 

as    during    months    previous.       The    next 

clear  intimation  of  her  hope  in  Christ  was 

given   in  her    first  fainting    spell,    on    the 

day  of  her  death.      Construing    it  as  the 

approach  of  the  last  enemy,  she  exclaimed  • 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  dying  !  " 

Her  mother  replied,  with  much  agitation  : 

"Daughter,    I    believe    you    are;  trust 

your  Saviour." 

Unable  to  speak  at  the  moment,  her 
mouth  being  filled  with  phlegm  she  had 
just  coughed  up,  she  assented  with  a  cheer- 
ful energetic  nod  of  the  head,  so  familiar 
to  those  who  knew  her  well,  Avhich  she 
frequently  employed  to  indicate  a  hearty 
and  emphatic  assent ;  and  as  soon  as  she 
could  speak,  added  with  great  promptness 
and  earnestness,  "  I  do,  I  do,"  and  then 
sank  back  exhausted. 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  39 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  after 
her  third  fainting  spell,  I  was  seated  on  the 
bed  by  her,  when  she  turned  and  said  : 

"  Father,  it  is  a  frightful  thing  to   die." 

I  answered : 

"My  daughter,  you  have  twice  said  that 
to  me :  what  is  there  in  death  that  seems 
to  you  so  fearful?  " 

"Oh,  it  is  such  a  solemn  thing  to  meet 
God.  But  what  I  most  dread  is  the  pain 
of  dying." 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  learn  that  the 
cause  of  apprehension  was  only  this ;  and 
I  answered : 

"You  may  dismiss,  my  darling,  all 
alarm  on  that  score :  I  am  well  convinced, 
from  seeing  many  persons  die,  that  in  the 
moment  of  death  there  is  no  consciousness 
of  pain." 

I  have  since  learned  that  the  special 
thought  which  haunted  her  was  the  fear  of 
strangling,  from  inability  at  the  last  to 
expectorate.     I  continued  : 

* '  F ,    do   you    feel   that   you    love 

Jesus  ?" 


40  •  THE   BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

She  answered  promptly : 

"Yes,   I  know  that  I  love  Him." 

"Do  you  know  that  you  love  Him,  just 
as  you  know  that  you  love  your  mother 
and  me  ?" 

"Just  in  the  same  way,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  love  Him  and  He 
loves  you,  can  you  not  leave  this  matter 
of  your  dying  in  His  hands,  without  being 
distressed ;  just,  for  example,  as  you  have 
often  left  things  to  your  mother  and  me, 
and  have  given  yourself  no  further  concern, 
simply  because  you  confided  both  in  our 
wisdom  and  affection?" 

She  answered,  "Yes."  As  she  was 
very  feeble,  I  did  not  press  the  conversa- 
tion further  ;  especially  as  I  did  not  even 
then  suspect  her  end  to  be  so  near. 

After  tea  I  came  into  the  room  and 
fixed  her  more  comfortably  upon  the  bed 
and  pillow.  It  was  the  last  time  any  one 
was  called  to  dispose  her  poor  emaciated 
form ;  and  she  lay  in  that  position  to  the 
end. 

Presently  she  said ; 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  41 

"  Mother,  turn  on  the  gas  and  give  more 
hght." 

I  walked  to  the  mantel  and  found  a  full 
jet  of  flame  already  burning,  and  said  : 

"It  cannot  be  any  brighter,  my  daugh- 
ter ;  does  it  not  seem  bright  to  you  ?" 

"No,  it  appears  to   be    getting    dark,", 
she  replied. 

One  of  the  avenues  of  this  world  of 
sense  was  closing  its  portal  to  her;  and 
this  first  discovered  to  us  that  she  was 
actually  dying.  I  was  startled,  too,  by  the 
fact  that  her  voice,  hitherto  so  weak  as  to 
compel  us  to  bend  our  ears  to  her  lips,  had 
become  strong  ;  and  was  heard  with  a 
ringing  sound  over  the  room.  It  was  an- 
other harbinger  of  death.  Her  mother  and 
I  drew  close  to  her  side,  where  one  of  her 
sisters  was  faithfully  fanning  her.  She 
looked  round  and  asked  for  another  sister, 
who  was  hidden  behind  her  mother  ;  whom 
she  immediately  addressed  : 

"  Pray  for  me,    M ,    that  I  may  pass 

gently  away." 

She  then  called  for  the  two  remaining 


42  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

sisters ;  and  seeing  them  both  sobbing, 
said  : 

' '  You  must  not  cry  for  me,  when  I  am 
gone ;  for  you  know  that  I  am  obhged 
to  go." 

She  then  called  for  her  grandmother, 
who  was  preparing  some  nourishment  for 
her  during  the  night.      As  she    delayed  a 

little,  F became  impatient.      A  second 

message  was  sent  to  her,  to  leave  every- 
thing and  come  at  once.  Upon  entering 
the  room  she  was  startled  at  seeing  us  all 
weeping  around  the  bed.      She  asked  : 

"What  is  it  you  want  of  me,  my 
daughter  ?  " 

"Nothing,  grandmother,  only  to  see 
you  once  more  ;   as  I  am  going  very  fast." 

"  Is  Jesus  very  precious  to  you  ?"  asked 
the  grandmother. 

"Oh,  yes,  He  is  very  precious,"  was 
the  sweet  reply. 

One  was  bathing  her  hand  with  cologne  : 
she  exclaimed,  "  How  delightful  !  "  Turn- 
ing to  a  servant  who  was  bathing  the  other 
hand  across  the  bed,   and  alluding   to  the 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  43 

recent   death    of  an    old    family    servant, 
said  : 

"  Maum  Lucy  did  not  go  much  before 
me." 

Her  mother  asked  if  she  did  not  wish  to 
see  a  relative  whom  she  named.  She  re- 
plied : 

'  "  Yes,  I  have  not  seen  him  for  several 
days." 

As  he  entered  and  came  to  her  bedside, 
she  said: 

"G ,  take  warning;   but  you   have 

been     warned    before" — alluding     to    a 
brother's   death  about  a  year  before. 

She  was  asked  if  she  desired  to  send  a 
message  to  a  kinswoman  recently  married, 
and  now  absent : 

"  Yes,  tell  her  I  wish  she  was  here;  she 
little  dreams  of  this  ;  she  is  happy  now — I 
hope  we  will  soon  meet  again." 

Other  messages  were  sent  to  absent 
cousins,  to  whom  she  had  always  been 
attached  : 

"  Give  R my  love,  and  tell  him — he 

knows  what  I  would  say  to  him." 


44  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

Thinking  she  was  growing  weary,  I 
inquired  : 

"F ,  are  you  not  tired  talking?" 

"Yes,  but  you  know  I  did  not  com- 
mence to  talk  soon  ;  "  and  added  : 

"I  wish  I  could  have  seen  the  doctor 
again  ;  give  him  my  love." 

It  was  asked  : 

"  Would  you  like  your  grandfather  to 
pray  for  you?" 

"Yes;"  but  as  he  was  about  to  begin 
she  interposed  : 

' '  I  want  to  say  one  thing  more  :  Mother, 
when  you  get  back  to  our  old  home,  give 
my  love  to  every  one  who  cares  for  me, 
and  to  the  servants,  too." 

Turning  then  to  her  grandfather,  and 
placing  her  hand  in  his,  she  said : 

"  You  may  pray  now,  grandfather  ;  and 
pray  that  I  may  pass  gently  away." 

He  offered  a  very  touching  prayer  on 
her  behalf;  after  which  she  turned  to  me 
and  said  : 

"Father,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  disap- 
pointed; no,  not  disappointed — you  know 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  45 

what  I   mean  ;    you  know  I  was  always  a 
timid  child." 

"  I  think,  daughter,  I  know  what  you 
mean  :  there  is  no  danger  of  your  being 
disappointed  ;  the  Saviour  will  fulfil  all  His 
promises  to  you." 

Looking  tenderly  upon  us,  she  said : 

"I  hope  we  shall  all  soon  meet  again." 

After  a  little,  raising  her  arms  with  an 
emphatic  gesture,  she  cried  : 

"  Mother,  I  declare  I  am  getting  right 
deaf!" 

Another  avenue  was  closing,  of  the 
poor  world  she  was  rapidly  leaving.  From 
this  time  she  was  silent,  except  that  upon 
her  groaning  twice  her  mother  asked  : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  F ,  does  any 

place  hurt  you  ?" 

"Nothing,  mother;  only  sinking,  sink- 
ing, sinking  away" — accompanying  the 
utterance  with  a  gradual  lowering  of  the 
hand  three  times  in  the  air.  She  then  be- 
came somewhat  delirious,  holding  imagin- 
ary conversations  with  absent  persons. 
In  this  delirium  she  appeared  distressed. 


46  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

and  whined  aloud  as  a  child  about  to  cry. 
I  called  aloud  to  her,  making  myself  heard 
with  difficulty  by  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death  : 

* '  F ,   my  daughter,   what   troubles 

you  ?  " 

Rousing  to  consciousness,  she  turned  her 
eyes  upon  me,  and  said  simply : 

"Father,  Father;"  but  with  an  inflec- 
tion of  tone  I  cannot  indicate  on  paper, 
and  which  I  can  never  forget — so  full  of 
love  and  trust,  as  though  she  would  still 
lean  upon  me  while  going  down  into  the 
Dark  Valley.  It  was  the  last  sound  from 
her  blessed  lips.  She  sank  into  silence — a 
silence  only  to  be  broken  as  her  clear 
silvery  voice  rang  out  amidst  the  praises 
of  the  Upper  Temple.  Her  respiration 
became  quicker,  her  pulse  more  thread- 
like— one  short  spasm  passed  over  her 
frame — she  gently  raised  her  elbow  as 
though  she  would  fly,  and  the  tragic  scene 
was  closed  !  The  poor  wasted  body  was 
with  us ;  the  rejoicing  spirit  was  with  the 
harpers,  veiling  itself  before  the  glories  of 
the  Throne. 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  4/ 

The  story  is  almost  told.  One  day  and 
night  we  watched  by  the  dust  so  precious 
in  our  eyes  ;  and  on  the  19th  of  July,  1863, 
we  laid  her  down  by  the  side  of  her  infant 
brother,  to  sleep  until  the  trumpet's  call, 
-T^^ut  the  agony  of  turning  away  and  leaving 
her  alone — leaving  her  alone  whom  we  had 
so  tenderly  cherished,  that  no  wind  of 
heaven  blew  roughly  upon  her,  this,  O 
God  !  is  known  only  to  Thee  and  to  us. 
But  we  have  exceeding  comfort  in  this  loss. 
We  have  no  misgivings  as  to  her  eternal 
happiness.  She  had  afforded  while  in  life 
and  health  the  most  abundant  evidence  of 
a  change  of  heart ;  and  during  her  long  ill- 
ness, as  she  often  said,  "this  world  was 
dead  to  her."  The  apprehension  of  death 
which  she  expressed  arose  from  constitu- 
tional timidity ;  which  was  sunk  at  last  in 
a  calm,  clear  trust  in  her  Redeemer — ex- 
cept as  she  dreaded  its  physical  pangs, 
which,  thanks  to  God,  she  was  mercifully 
spared. 

Besides  all   this,    she  has  left  behind  a 
most  precious  memory.     I  cannot  say  of 


48  THE   BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

her  all  that  I  could,  lest  I  should  be  deemed 
extravagant ;  or,  at  least,  lie  open  to  the 
suspicion  that,  as  death  throws  a  halo  over 
the  departed,  I  am  under  the  spell  of  a  fond 
and  delusive  affection.  Yet  I  have  said  of 
her,  long  before  this  sad  bereavement, 
since  she  was  twelve  years  of  age  I  could 
find  nothing  in  her  to  amend.  Watching 
over  her  with  a  parent's  anxiety  to  mould 
her  character  aright,  there  was  nothing  to 
correct.  She  has  left  a  memory  in  which 
there  is  nothing  we  would  desire  changed : 
as  we  travel  over  it  in  thought,  every  spot  is 
green  and  lovely  to  the  eye.  I  had  learned 
to  reverence  her.  The  attributes  which 
she  displayed  were  so  beautiful  that  I,  who 
sought  to  shape  and  guide  her  aright,  was 
often  reproved  by  a  virtue  superior  to  my 
own.  Strange  that  we  did  not  see  through 
all  those  years  that  God  was  secretly  edu- 
cating her  for  Himself;  and  when  she  was 
ripe,  she  was  plucked  to  be  with  Him. 
Her  memory  is  a  sweet  and  awful  thing  to 
us :  we  think  of  her  not  as  dead,  but  as 
translated  to  be  with  Christ.     Our  lovely 


LESSONS   IN  SORROW. 


49 


flower  bloomed  awhile  on  its  earthly  stem, 
and  then 

••  She  was  exhaled — her  Creator  drew 
Her  spirit,  as  the  sun  the  morning  dew." 

The  lesson  taught  in  this  second  sorrow 
is  the  special  grace  reserved  for  a  dying 
hour ;  which  will  subdue  the  fears  of  the 
most  timid  and  enable  them  to  depart  in 
peace,  if  not  in  triumph.  Many  reasons 
can  be  assigned  for  this  dread  of  death, 
styled  by  the  Apostle  "the  last  enemy." 
There  is  the  natural  instinct  of  life,  which 
we  share  with  the  beasts  of  the  field  ;  a 
wholesome  protection  against  the  madness 
of  despair  which  so  often  rushes  its  victim 
on  to  the  guilt  of  suicide.  There  is,  again, 
the  awfulness  of  death  as  the  penalty  of 
the  broken  Law.  How  unnatural  the 
separation  of  the  soul  and  body,  is  shown 
when  the  spirit  lingers  in  its  tenement  of 
clay  and  escapes  reluctantly  at  last  with 
the  gurgling  breath.  Is  it  possible,  again, 
to  shake  off  the  ties  of  life  from  which  the 
soul  has  through  years  been  drawing  the 


50  tHE   BROKEN   HOME;     OR 

sweetness  of  earthly  bliss,  and  not  feel  the 
pain  ?  Add  to  these  our  ignorance  as  to 
the  details  of  a  Future  State,  disabling  even 
the  imagination  from  transporting  us  to  its 
scenes  and  pursuits.  Finally,  bring  before 
the  mind  the  pangs  of  dissolution,  exag- 
gerated often  to  the  senses  through  the 
spasms  of  the  body  as  it  stretches  to  its 
death  stature.  Aggregate  all  these  terrors 
in  one  single  conception,  and  the  wonder 
will  be,  not  that  death  is  an  object  of 
dread,  but  that  Christian  hope  should  be 
strong  enough  to  overcome  it  at  the  last. 
The  history  just  recited  is  only  one  of 
many,  going  to  show  that  with  the  most 
sensitive  and  shrinking  of  mortals  this  fear 
is  quelled  at  the  moment  of  passing  into 
the  presence  of  our  King.  It  is  a  grace 
reserved  for  this  precise  moment,  guaran- 
teed only  then  as  the  experience  which  is 
needed  ;  and  is  possibly  connected  with 
the  last  acts  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  com- 
pleting the  believer's  sanctification.  It  has 
been  said  that  the  dying  never  weep  ;  cer- 
tainly the  composure  is  beyond  the  power 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  5 1 

of  nature,  with  which  the  dying  saint  yields 
up  all  the  companionships  of  life,  and  sun- 
ders the  dearest  bonds  of  lov^e.  Ah,  who 
can  tell  what  new  joys  swell  the  bosom  of 
the  Christian  the  moment  his  feet  touch 
the  stones  of  the  Covenant,  as  he  follows 
the  Ark  "in  the  swelling  of  Jordan  1  " 

The  following  lines  depict  the  fierceness 
of  the  conflict  between  fear  and  faith,  in 
many  a  timid  Christian's  breast : 


"  The  way  is  dark,  my  Father  !     Cloud  on  cloud 
Is  gathering  thickly  o'er  my  head,  and  loud 
The  thunders  roar  above  me.     See,  I  stand 
Like  one  bewildered  !     Father,  take  my  hand, 
And  through  the  gloom 
Lead  safely  home 
Thy  child ! 


"  The  day  goes  fast,  my  Father  !  and  the  night 
Is  drawing  darkly  down.     My  faithless  sight 
Sees  ghostly  visions.     Fears,  a  spectral  band, 
Encompass  me.     O  Father  !  take  my  hand, 
And  from  the  night 
Lead  up  to  light 
Thy  child! 


52  THE   BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

"  The  throng  is  great,  my  Father  !     Many  a.  doubt 
And  fear  and  danger  compass  me  about ; 
And  foes  oppress  me  sore.     I  cannot  stand 
Or  go  alone.     O  Father !  take  my  hand, 
And  through  the  throng 

'  Lead  safe  along 

[  Thy  child ! 

•'  The  cross  is  heavy,  Father  !     I  have  borne 
It  long,  and  still  do  bear  it.     Let  my  worn 
And  fainting  spirit  rise  to  that  blest  land 
Where  crowns  are  given.     Father  !  take  my  hand  ; 
And,  reaching  down, 
Lead  to  the  crown 
Thy  child ! " 


III. 

"  I  hear  a  voice  you  cannot  hear, 
Which  says,  I  must  not  stay , 
I  see  a  hand  you  cannot  ?ee. 
Which  beckons  me  away." 

Our  fourth  daughter  was  from  birth  sin- 
gularly attractive  in  appearance,  possessing 
features  whose  beauty  time  might  improve, 
but  could  never  diminish.  Her  eyes  were 
of  a  dark  brown  color,  large  and  full  of 
lustre,  yet  liquid  and  soft.  In  this  feature, 
as  well  as  in  a  clear  brunette  complexion, 
she  resembled  her  only  brother,  the  first- 
born and  the  early  taken  of  our  little  flock  ; 
except  that  in  his  there  was  a  pensiveness 
of  expression,  as  though  it  might  be  the 
shadow  of  premature  thought ;  and  which 
even  after  death  still  looked  forth  from  the 
half  closed  lids,  like  a  sort  of  revelation 
from  the  upper  world  haunting  the  memory 
through  long  years,  and  not   wholly  ban- 


54  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

ished  yet.  Her  hair  deepening  into  the 
darkest  shade  this  side  of  black,  and  fine 
as  silk,  curled  in  ringlets  around  her  in- 
fant neck ;  growing  afterwards  into  long 
and  graceful  tresses  that  were  gathered  in 
braids  and  folds  around  her  head,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  time.  In  stature  she  was  a 
little  above  the  medium  height.  Her  only 
defect  was  a  narrowness  of  the  chest — a 
prognostic  to  the  jealous  love  that  watched 
her  growth  of  the  fatal  disease,  which, 
alas  !  was  soon  to  hurry  her  to  the  grave. 
With  gentle  sloping  shoulders  and  tapering 
waist,  her  figure  was  complete  in  symmetry. 
Over  her  person  was  diffused  an  air  of 
quiet  dignity  and  ease,  rendering  her  wo- 
manhood as  full  of  grace  as  her  infancy 
was  of  beauty ;  while  in  those  dark  eyes, 
soft  as  those  of  a  gazelle,  lay  the  deep  look 
so  full  of  soul — the  pledge  of  affection 
which  would  never  deceive,  and  of  char- 
acter which  would  never  betray.  Alas, 
that  the  beautiful  should  ever  die  !  But 
God  will  be  served  with  what  we  value 
most;  and  we  will  not  be  envious  of  Him, 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  55 

who  has  plucked  from  our  garden  the  flower 
whose  fragrance  was  so  pleasing  to  us. 

An  incident  of  her  infant  life,  which  had 
almost  faded  from  remembrance,  looms  up 
since  her  death  \\ith  a  weird  and  almost 
prophetic  significance.  When  ten  months 
old,  it  became  necessary  to  break  a  slow 
fever  by  the  use  of  quinine.  Through  a 
mistake  wholly  unaccountable,  morphine 
was  administered  ;  the  effect  of  which  be- 
came soon  too  obvious.  It  was  a  hot  day 
in  Jul}',  on  the  Saturday  preceding  the 
communion  Sabbath.  Pulpit  preparation 
and  everything  else  were  thrown  aside  as 
the  little  babe,  pale  and  pulseless  as  though 
chiselled  from  Parian  marble,  lay  upon  the 
mother's  knee  in  a  slate  of  coma.  Five 
h.ours  of  ceaseless  labor  were  spent  by  a 
skilful  ph)-sician  before  the  first  sign  of 
conscious  life  appeared  ;  followed  through 
six  otlier  distressing  hours,  by  the  fierce 
battle  against  the  fatal  slumber  which,  un- 
resisted, must  scon  wrap  the  little  form  in 
the  folds  of  that  sleep  which  knows  no 
waking       It  was  a  day  of  unspeakable  an- 


56  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

guish,  remembered  like  some  horrible 
dream  which  once  froze  the  heart  with 
terror.  The  mother  rushed  from  chamber 
to  chamber  in  the  frenzy  of  grief,  at  having 
adm.inistered  with  her  own  loving  hand  the 
dread  potion  :  the  father  bowed  the  knee 
in  prayer  and  the  vow  that,  if  a  merciful 
God  would  but  spare  the  child  long  enough 
to  break  the  connection  with  this  tragical 
accident,  and  so  lift  the  self-accusing  bur- 
den from  the  mother's  heart,  he  would  at 
any  moment  resign  the  child  to  Him  who 
should  grant  so  gracious  a  reprieve.  The 
prayer  was  heard,  and  after  eighteen  years 
the  moment  came  to  redeem  the  vow. 

"  Be  still,  my  soul,  each  groan  suppress  : 
The  child  to  thee  in  prayer  twice  given 
Thy  home  with  so  much  love  to  bless, 
A  solemn  vow  had  pledged  to  Heaven.' 

The  sequel  of  this  incident  is  as  mys- 
terious as  the  story  is  affecting.  When  the 
child  thus  wonderfully  spared  grew  old 
enough  to  talk,  her  baby  accents  lisped 
continually  of  another  world.  I  will  give 
it  in  the  childish  words  which,  though  long 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  57 

since  uttered,   are  graven   on  the  memory 
as  with  the  point  of  a  diamond. 

"When  I  went  to  Heaven."  she  used 
to  say,  ' '  I  saw  a  big  white  gate  with  a 
man  standing  just  inside.  Before  it  was  a 
pool  of  water  with  a  board  across  it ;  and 
the  man  said,  '  Come  in,  Sissy,  but  don't 
fall  in.'  But  I  fell  in  ;  and  he  took  me  out 
into  a  room  where  there  were  a  great  many 
glory-children,  and  dressed  me  in  white 
with  wings  like  theirs.  Then  he  took  me 
to  see  God.  I  saw  a  big  red  pillow,  with 
five  black  dots,  that  God  rests  on.  And, 
mother,  there  were  two  gold  rocking  chairs 
for  you  and  father,  and  five  little  ones  for 
us  children.  And,  Mauma  (her  nurse), 
there  was  a  beautiful  white  satin  dress  for 
you  ;  it  felt  so  smooth  ;  just  put  your  hand 
on  your  hair,  it  felt  just  like  that.  I 
wanted  to  bring  it  to  you  ;  but  when  1 
went  to  take  it,  it  just  slipped  away.  And 
now  1  spend  every  Sunday  in  Heaven, 
with  God.  He  puts  a  ladder  down  for  me 
every  Saturday  evening,  and  I  go  up  and 
come  home  on  Monday." 


58  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    O.v 

Strange  words  these,  for  a  lisping  babe 
of  only  three  summers.  Can  Philosophy 
explain  them  ?  Was  it  but  an  infant's 
dream  ?  But  whence  the  ideas  out  of 
which  its  details  were  woven  ?  She  was 
too  young  to  have  gathered  much  out  of 
St.  John's  Revelation,  as  that  portion  of 
God's  word  might  happen  to  be  read  at 
morning  and  evening  worship.  Even  the 
superstition  of  servants  could  scarcely  have 
impressed  the  imagination  that  had  not 
wakened  in  its  earliest  dawn  as  yet.  Month 
by  month  the  same  story  was  repeated, 
always  with  reluctance,  which  yielded  only 
to  the  pressure  of  entreaties — and  with  such 
seeming  reverence  as  made  the  hearer 
solemn,  too.  Did  it  hold  any  connection 
with  the  trance  of  two  years  before  ?  Was 
there  an  overlapping  of  the  two  worlds 
across  the  border  of  thread,  upon  which 
for  so  many  hours  the  little  spirit  was 
balancing  ?  Had  she  then  a  vision,  the 
reminiscence  of  which  came  dimly  baci< 
upon  the  dawning  intellect — straining  itself 
through    earthly    images    given    by    the 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  $5 

senses,  and  made  somewhat  grotesque  by 
the  unnatural  commingling  ?  Who  can 
tell  ?  It  is  enough  that  the  keeper  of  the 
gate  has  at  last  let  her  in — that  she  walks 
with  him  in  white — that  she  looks  with 
the  "  pure  in  heart"  upon  the  face  of  the 
King ;  and  may  God  in  holy  covenant 
grant,  that  we  may  all  sit  in  the  golden 
chairs  which  her  infant  eye  saw  placed  for 
father  and  mother  and  the  other  five. 

The  years  rolled  on — years  of  careful 
parental  training  and  years  of  physical  and 
mental  growth — some  of  them  years  of 
frightful  civil  w^ar,  which  laid  the  cares  of 
age  upon  the  heart  of  youth  and  made 
even  children  men.  At  length  she  stood 
before  us  in  the  maturity  of  early  woman- 
hood, the  pride  and  joy  of  those  by  whom 
she  was  tenderly  loved.  But  it  is  only 
since  she  left  us  that  we  begin  to  put 
things  together,  and  better  understand  a 
character  which  was  before  somewhat  a 
puzzle  to  explain.  With  the  style  of 
beauty  which  fascinates  in  youth  and  be- 
comes  queenly   when   rounded    into   the 


6o  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

proportions  of  age,  it  lay  upon  her  as  the 
sunbeam  lies  upon  the  unconscious  flower. 
The  thought  could  not  be  put  in  her  from 
without ;  and  every  chance  note  of  admira- 
tion glanced  off,  leaving  no  more  trace 
than  of  the  arrow  through  the  air.  The 
sceptre  of  maidenly  conquest  and  rule  lay 
untouched  at  her  feet.  The  ambition  of 
youth  and  beauty  to  assert  the  power  of 
both,  slumbered  in  her  heart.  It  was  not 
so  much  indifference,  as  a  total  uncon- 
sciousness of  its  presence.  Would  a  sense 
of  its  power  have  broken  upon  her  at  last  ? 
Who  knows  ?  But  she  carried  up  to  God 
a  heart  in  its  virgin  freshness,  which  the 
voice  of  flattery  had  never  been  able  to  soil. 
There  was  another  paradox  in  her  char- 
acter. Thrown  into  the  bosom  of  a  large 
society,  and  commingling  with  persons  of 
every  class,  she  was  indisposed  to  be  drawn 
into  any  of  its  eddies.  Beyond  two  or 
three  cherished  friendships,  no  amount  of 
kindly  force  could  push  her  out  to  take  her 
place  as  a  woman  in  the  world.  Her  love 
was  concentrated  upon  her  home ;  and  the 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  6 1 

ties  of  sister  and  daughter  were  all  the 
bonds  on  earth  she  cared  to  recognize. 
Even  in  this  narrow  sphere  her  love  was 
unobtrusive.  Averse  from  the  caresses  of 
others,  and  tendering  no  endearments  from 
herself,  it  was  felt  as  one  feels  the  light — 
by  an  ever  genial  presence.  It  was  only 
in  the  occasional  emergencies  breaking  up 
the  routine  of  family  life,  that  the  crust  of 
reserve  gave  way  and  revealed  the  pas- 
sionate depths  to  which  that  quiet  silent 
love  did  reach.  The  same  individuality 
was  as  clearly  defined  in  the  intellectual, 
as  in  the  emotional  sphere.  So  far  from 
merely  reflecting  the  influences  which  bore 
upon  her,  a  trenchant  criticism  would  often 
betray  the  independence  of  her  own  ob- 
servations of  life.  And  these,  though 
never  obtruded,  were  not  kept  under  the 
same  seal  of  secretiveness  with  utterances 
that  might  savor  of  sentiment.  In  a  word, 
few  persons  so  young  were  more  self-con- 
tained ;  which,  perhaps,  gives  the  key  to 
all  that  seemed  so  surprising  in  the  dying 
experience  presently  to  be  recorded. 


^2  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

How  early  one  so  reticent  began  to  be 
interested  in  the  subject  of  personal  re- 
ligion, perhaps  even  she  herself  could  not 
have  told.  Certainly  it  would  not  betray 
itself  to  others  by  any  transient  emotion, 
which  she  was  able  so  perfectly  to  control. 
It  would  not  escape  through  any  utterance 
of  the  lips,  until  conviction  had  pretty  well 
ripened  into  fixed  religious  principle.  She 
was  one  to  fight  the  battle  out  alone,  until 
the  time  should  come  to  declare  the  issue. 
The  first  disclosure  was  made  to  the  sister 
next  above  her  in  age.  L}'ing  across  the 
bed,  the  two  talked  together  of  a  sudden 
death  which  had  recently  occurred  : 

"  As  for  myself, "  said  K ,   "  I  would 

rather  die  from  consumption  than  from  any 
other  disease." 

Her  sister,  in  surprise,  exclaimed : 

"Why,  K !" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  response,  "because  it 
is  a  lingering  disease,  and  more  free  from 
pain  than  most  others." 

"Perhaps  so,"  replied  the  sister,  "to 
the  invalid  herself,  but  not  to  friends  who 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  63 

watch  around  the  bed." 

"That  is  true,"  was  the  answer;  and 
the  subject  was  dropped — but  not  until  the 
faithful  sister  sought  to  bear  it  down  in  a 
close  application  to  the  conscience.  As 
might  have  been  expected,  however,  the 
appeal  was  received  in  respectful  silence, 
but  the  silence  of  complete  reserve.  Soon 
after  a  little  note  was  pinned  on  the  table 
cushion,  reading  after  this  tenor  : 

"  Dear  G ,  I  wish    you    would  talk 

with  me  on  a  certain  subject ;  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

Even  a  crumpled  note  must  bear  the 
impress  of  her  character  :  a  direct  brevity 
that  would  waste  no  words,  and  the  use  of 
an  enigma  to  veil,  if  not  to  suppress,  all 
sentiment.  The  germinating  seed  was  now 
ready  to  burst  through  the  soil,  and  come 
to  the  light  and  air.  The  requested  inter- 
view revealed  the  fact  of  a  soul  that  had 
passed  through  its  travail,  and  was  resting 
quietly  upon  the  peace  of  the  Gospel.  In 
October,  1869,  she  united  with  the  Church 
of  God  upon  the  profession  of  her  faith  and 


64  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

hope ;    and    sat   the  next  Sabbath  at  the 
Supper  of  the  Lamb. 

The  last  sad  chapter  of  this  story  alone 
remains.  In  the  Autumn  of  1870  a  hard 
bronchial  cough  became  the  precursor  of 
the  insidious  disease  which  does  its  work 
so  surely,  sapping  a  frail  constitution  from 
beneath.  With  obstinate  defiance  it  re- 
sisted the  highest  medical  skill.  No  pal- 
liatives soothed  it ;  all  attempts  at  cure  it 
simply  mocked.  Travel  was  advised  ;  and 
the  summer  months  of  1871  were  spent  in 
an  extended  tour  through  the  North  and 
Canada.  Not  the  first  indication  of  im- 
provement was  perceived,  and  we  knew 
just  how  it  must  end.  But  none  dreamed 
how  soon  that  end  would  come.  With 
waning  strength,  indeed,  still  the  fatigues 
of  travel  were  borne  with  comparative 
comfort  till  the  faces  of  the  party  were 
turned  homeward.  With  effort  the  journey 
was  continued  ;  and  about  the  middle  of 
September  we  reached  a  place  that  seemed 
like  home,  in  the  house  of  the  grand- 
mothet.      Here   the    whole    system   gave 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  6$ 

way,  and  she  became  alarmingly  ill.  Three 
weeks  of  careful  nursing  were  required  be- 
fore the  case  yielded  to  medical  treatment. 
She  was  now  entirely  prostrate,  her  strength 
reduced  to  the  feebleness  of  infancy.  It 
was  a  gracious  reprieve,  suspending  the 
issue  long  enough  to  renew  the  journey  to 
our  own  abode.  Borne  in  the  arms  and 
reclining  on  beds  extemporized  in  the  cars, 
we  succeeded  by  easy  stages  in  reaching 
home,  on  the  6th  of  October.  She  was 
borne  in  the  arms  to  her  chamber,  from 
which  she  was  carried  in  exactly  three 
weeks  to  the  tomb.  There  was  no  reason 
in  the  nature  of  her  disease,  proverbially 
so  lingering,  for  this  early  termination, 
except  the  unconquerable  loathing  of  all 
food — which,  undoubtedly,  was  a  feature 
of  the  malady  itself.  Her  case  was  in  this 
respect  precisely  similar  to  that  of  her  sis- 
ter, whose  death  has  already  been  recorded ; 
who,  in  the  same  degree,  turned  with  dis- 
gust from  every  solicitation  of  the  appetite. 
Though  distinctly  admonished  that  the  pre- 
servation of  life  depended  upon  enriching 


66  TKE   BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

the  blood,  which  nutrition  alone  could 
effect ;  and  notwithstanding  that  she  sum- 
moned all  the  energies  of  her  will  to  over- 
come this  unnatural  repugnance,  every 
effort  failed.  Delicacies  of  every  descrip- 
tion and  food  that  would  have  tempted  an 
epicure,  lay  untouched  at  her  side  ;  and  it 
was  evident  that  she  must  die  of  sheer 
inanition,  as  much  as  from  the  disease 
itself.  The  jealous  apprehensions  of  her 
faithful  mother  were  the  first  to  realize  the 
fact,  and  with  almost  prophetic  instinct 
assigned  the  limit  beyond  which  her  en- 
durance could  not  pass.  She  died  within 
the  period  thus  by  anticipation  fixed. 
This  mother,  too,  was  the  first  to  break 
the  reserve  hitherto  maintained,  and 
sounded  the  first  warning  to  the  dying 
child. 

It  fell  in  the  gentlest  form  of  suggestion, 
and  spoke  of  the  disappointment  we  all  felt 
that  the  cough  got  no  better,  and  expressed 
the  fear  that  she  would  never  recover. 
She  was  also  asked  if  she  would  like  her 
father  to.  pray  with  and  fpr  her  ;  to  which 


tESSONS   IN   SORROW.  6^ 

a  cordial  assent  was  given.  From  this  time 
onward  family  worship  was  held  morning 
and  evening  in  her  chamber ;  and  the  poor 
sufferer  was  borne  upon  the  faith  of  all  our 
hearts  to  the  Mercy-seat  above.  In  the 
evening  of  the  same  day  the  warning  was 
enforced  by  her  sister  G ,  who  gene- 
rally watched  with  her  when  the  family 
was  at  meals,  and  embraced  those  oppor- 
tunities for  confidential  conversations.  She 
said  : 

"  K ,  you  do  not  know  how  it  pains 

us  to  see  you  so  sick  and  weak :  do  you 
know  how  sick  you  are?" 

*'  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  if  it  is  what 
the  doctor  calls  it :  in  one  respect  I  am 
worse,  I  cannot  eat." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  sick,"  replied 
the  sister;  "if  it  should  be. God's  will  to 
take  you,  would  you  be  alarmed?" 

"  No,"  was  the  steady  response. 

G then  resumed : 

"After  all,  death  is  nothing  to  a  her 
liever." 

The  conversation  glanced  from  this  direct 


68  THE    BROKEN    HOME ;    OK 

application,  and  they  spoke  of  a  friend 
who  had  recently  died  of  the  same  disease, 
and  generally  of  how  terrible  it  was  to  die 
if  unprepared  to  meet  God. 

"I  think,"  said  the  sufferer,  'that 
dreadful  weakness  that  comes  just  before 
death,  must  be  ?.'vvful." 

"  It  is  not  ::ivvays  so,"   was  the   reply  ; 

"  in  sister  F 's  case,  for  instance,  how 

strong  she  became  before  she  died  !  " 

These  suggestive  and  preliminary  con- 
t^ersations  prepared  the  way  for  a  more 
definite  announcement  of  her  critical  con- 
dition on  the  following  Monday,  October 
23d.  The  stern  duty  was  laid  upon  the 
father  to  cut  away  all  ground  of  hope  from 
his  darling  child,  and  to  open  to  her  the 
certainty  of  her  approaching  doom.  Would 
she  be  able  to  bear  it  ?  Evidently  she  had 
rallied  to  hope  upon  the  supposition  that 
her  disease  was  not  incurable.  With  the 
extinction  of  all  hope,  would  not  an  imme- 
diate collapse  ensue  ?  And  what  if  terro»- 
and  alarm  should  seize  her  spirit,  and  his 
words  hasten    the    dreaded    catastrophe  ? 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  6g 

Thoughts  hke  these  flitted  througli  his 
mind,  hke  birds  of  evil  omen.  It  was  as 
though  the  patriarchal  Abraham  must  hft 
the  sacrificial  knife  over  the  beloved  Isaac 
again.  Yet  the  poor  girl  must  not  be  suf- 
fered to  make  the  dreadful  plunge  wholly 
in  the  dark.  The  highest  Christian  love 
pleaded  that  she  might  at  least  be  allowed 
to  "gather  up  her  feet  in  her  bed  "  ere 
she  left  us.  Breaking  his  ground  ca-utious- 
ly,  he  asked  : 

"K ,    do    you    know  how  sick  you 

really  are  ?  and  do  you  not  think  sometimes 
that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  recover?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  so  very 
sick ;  if  I  could  only  eat,  that  is  my 
trouble." 

"But,  my  daughter,  do  }-ou  not  see 
that  this  is  a  part  of  your  disease,  and  the 
worst  part  of  it,  too?" 

She  was  silent,   and  he  continued  : 

"My  darling,  it  is  best  you  jiiould  kn^w 
the  whole  truth  about,  yourself;  it  is  now 
certain  that  you  have  consumption  ;  hith- 
erto  your   lungs    have    been   in  what  the 


70  THE   BROKEN    HOME  ;    CR 

doctors  call  a  state  of  consolidation  or 
hardening ;  now  they  arc  beginnini;  to 
break  down,  and  will  go  entirely  in  llic 
course  of  time.  You  may  linger  as  n\any 
do,  or  you  may  be  taken  away  at  almost 
any  moment.  Tell  nic,  daughter,  does 
this  .'ilarm  you  ?     Are  you  afraid  to  die?" 

With  a  superb  courage,  without  the 
n'olsLenir.g  of  an  eye  or  the  quivering  of  a 
muscle,  she  heard  her  doom  ;  and  folding 
her  luinds  on  her  breast,  simply  said : 

"  I  am  ready." 

"  Is  your  hope  fixed  simply  upon  Christ 
as  your  Redeemer,  my  child?" 

"Yes,  I  have  nothing  else  to  trust  to 
but  that,"  was  the  reply  which  closed 
the  interview.  It  would  have  been  com- 
forting to  have  drawn  her  out  in  the  details 
of  Christian  experience,  but  in  compassion 
it  was  spared.  Even  this  brief  conversa- 
tion was  at  the  expense  of  much  suffering 
from  unutterable  exhaustion  and  the  inces- 
sant cough  which  speaking  only  irritated 
and  increased.  In  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  she  repeated  to  a  younger  sister  the 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  7 1 

substance  of  what  had  been  said  about  her 
physical  condition,  and  added  : 

"  But  I  am  so  weak  that  I  cannot  talk. 
Father  is  going  to  have  prayer  with  me." 

A  little  later  she  inquired  when  a  certain 
lady  was  to  be  married,  alluding  to  an  en- 
gagement which  would  take  her  father 
from  home. 

"  On  the  i6th  oi  November,"  was  the 
answer ;  but  father  will  not  go  now,  as  you 
are  so  sick." 

She  rejoined  ; 

"It  maybe  all  over  with  me  before  then," 

G exclaimed  : 

"K ,  how  can  you  talk  about  it  so 

calmly?" 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  I  don't  want  to 
be  frightened  about  it,  when  the  time 
comes;  and  I  hope  I  won't." 

' '  No,  you  will  not  be, "  the  sister  added, 
"  God  will  give  you  strength  for  it ;  don't 
you  remember  how  sister  dreaded  it,  and 
how  calm  she  was  when  the  time  came  ?" 

With  a  sudden  lighting  up  of  the  coun- 
tenance, the  dying  girl  exclaimed  : 


72  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

"Oh!    she   will  be  there   to  meet  me, 
won't  she?" 

On  Tuesday,  October  24tli,    the   doctor 

paid  a  long  visit ;  and  called  G out  on 

leaving,  to  warn  her  against  sleeping  witV 
the  patient ;   as  she  was  jusi  in  that  condi 
tion    to    communicate  the  disease.      That 
night  K^ said  to  her  sister  : 

"  What  did  the  doctor  call  you  out  for  ? 
Was  it  to  say  that  my  lungs  were  affected  ?" 

"Yes,  K ,  he  did." 

"  Well,  he  need  not  have  minded    Scty- 
ing  that  before   me  ;   I  am  not  surprised." 

She  then  inquired  about  her  sister's  case, 
who  had  died  : 

"  Did  sister  cough  and  spit,  as  I  do?" 

"  Yes,  just  the  same." 

"  Then  I  think  I  ought  to  have  a  pallet 
all  to  myself.      I  always    thought   my   left 

side    affected ;    and    asked if 

ever  I  had  anything  the  matter  with  my 
kmgs,  would  it  be  the  left  one,  and  he  said 
\'es.  Now  I  understand  why  sister  never 
would  sleep  with  her  lace  towards  us." 

After  awhile  she  inquired  whether  it  wa? 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  73 

her  sister's  right  or  left  lung  that  wa.s  af- 
fected, and  was  told  it  was  her  right  lung. 

On  Wednesday,  October  25th,  a  note 
was  read  to  her  from  a  kind  Christian 
friend,  expressing  sympathy  with  her  suf- 
ferings, and  asking  her  to  tell  her  mother 
or  any  one  else  for  him,  whether  the  Sa- 
viour was  precious  to  her.      At  the  close 

she  simply  said  :  "  Tell  him  yes."     G 

then  asked  if  she  would  not  send  a  message 
to  her  Sabbath-school  class  ;  as  one  from 
her  now  would  do  more  good  than  a  thoi:- 
sand  from  herself.     She  replied  : 

"Yes,  but  make  a  message  ibr  me — ;. 
can't." 

"  Shall  I  tell  them,  then,  that  the  >'oving 
die  as  well  as  the  old,  and  let  your  case  be 
a  warning  to  them?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "  let  this  be  a 
warning  to  them  not  to  put  off  preparing 
for  death  ;  for  they  may  be  in  too  much 
pain,  or  else  too  weak." 

On  Thursday,  October  26th,  about  three 
in  the  afternoon,  she  had  a  sinking  spell, 
so  that  we  thought  her  dying.     When  she 


74  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OK 

had   a    I'ttle    revived,     her     father    said, 

"K ,    you    are    very    weak."        She 

nodded  assent,  being  too  feeble  to  speak. 
"  Is  the  Saviour  very  precious  to  you,  my 
child  ?"  To  which  assent  was  given  in  the 
same  way  as  before.  She  appeared  to  rally 
from  this  prostration,  and  grew  bighter 
with  the  advancing  day,  but  coughing  in- 
cessantly and  unable  to  bring  up  the 
phlegm  from  her  throat. 

As  evening  deepened  into  night,  by  a 
sort  of  common  understanding  and  without 
conference,  the  entire  family  remained  up ; 
no  one  thought  of  disrobing  for  sleep.  The 
unexpressed  fear  lay  like  a  shadow  upon 
every  face,  that  the  hour  of  her  departure 
was  at  hand.  The  instinctive  prophecy 
was  fulfilled :  those  beautiful  eyes  never 
again  greeted  the  rising  sun.  About  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Friday,  October 
27th,  the  final  change  was  indicated  by  a 
degree  of  nervousness  which  led  to  the  re- 
quest that  her  limbs  might  be  rubbed. 
When  this  had  been  continued  some  time 
she  arrested  it,  saying,    ' '  I  think  I  will  go 


LESSONS   IN    SORROW.  75 

to  sleep  now;  I  would  like  to,  if  I  could." 
We  sat  around  in  silence,  vainly  hoping 
that  she  might  enjoy  even  a  refreshing 
doze.  As  this  was  wooed  in  vain,  her 
father  said : 

"Daughter,  is  the  Saviour  near  you?" 

To  which  she  answered  in  almost  a 
deprecatory  tone  : 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  am — too  weak — to  say 
— a  thing." 

All  joined  in  chorus  : 

"We  know  it,  don't  talk." 

An  hour  or  two  later,  thinking  the  ser- 
vants would  feel  hurt  if  not  allov/ed  to 
come  in  and  look  once  more  upon  the 
living  face,  at  the  mother's  request  tJiey 
were  wakened  and  invited  in,  if  they  so 
desired.  They  all  gathered  at  the  sum- 
mons, and  the  melancholy  group  stood 
weeping  around  the  bed.  Her  eye  ranged 
around  the  circle,  resting  in  turn  upon 
each.  The  father  spake  : 

"You  see,  K ,  we  are  all  here." 

"Yes." 

Remaining  quiet  for  some  time,  she  was 


76  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

seized  with  another  sinking  spell,  and  cried  : 
"Brandy — quick — something  to  eat.''"     A 
little  piece  of  cracker  was  handed  to  her, 
which  she  began  to  eat  with  an  impatient 
haste  that  smote  our  hearts  with  Its  mock- 
ery.    The  poor  girl  who   had  turned  for 
weeks  from  food  as  the  object  of  supreme 
disgust,  now  in  the  last  battle  for  life  was 
munching  almost  ravenously  a  piece  of  dry 
bread  to  fend  off  the  awful  weakness  she 
had  so  much  dreaded  as  the  precursor  of 
death.    Reviving  a  little  from  the  stimulus 
administered,  broken  words  fell   from  her 
lips,  but  in  a  voice  too  faint  to  be  caught 
She  then  endeavored  to  turn  upon  het  side, 
but  could  not  without  assistance.     "  It  i:i 
so  hard  to  sleep ;    I  think  I  will  sleep  first 
and  eat  afterwards."     The  icy  touch  was 
upon  her  limbs.   Gathering  the  coverlet  up 
to  her  neck,   a  slight   sign    of  aberratioi; 
manifested   itself  in    the  cry,   ' '  Take  this 
cold  cup  away."     Placing  her  hand  at  the 
same  time   into  her  bosom,   she  said,  ' '  I 
am  almost  asleep  now."     Ah,  yes,   but  it 
was  the  sleep  from  which  none  ever  wake 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  7/ 

until  the  Resurrection  morn.  Presently 
raising  her  finger  and  pointing  it  towards 
the  window,  she  exclaimed:  "There!" 
Who  can  tell  the  import  of  that  typical 
gesture  ?  As  the  curtain  rolls  up  before 
the  dying,  do  they  see  aught  beyond — 
catching  glimpses  of  the  Spirit  world  to 
which  the  eye  of  sense  is  closed  ?  Soon 
after,  her  face  lighted  up  with  a  strange 
radiance,  and  the  words  ' '  Welcome,  wel- 
come,"  fell  twice  upon  the  ear.  Her  sis- 
ter bending  over  her   asked  :    ' '  Did  you 

say   welcome,    K ?"     To  which  she 

answered:  "Yes,  welcome!"  Ah!  was 
this  the  greeting  of  a  ransomed  spirit  to 
the  shining  ones  she  saw  upon  the  banks 
of  the  cold  river  she  was  crossing,  waiting 
to  convey  her  home  ?  The  mysteries  of  a 
dying  hour  are  known  only  to  those  who 
are  passing  through  them,  and  the  secret 
is  too  precious  to  be  breathed  into  mortal 
ears.  Once  more  it  was  asked  of  her, 
"  Is  Jesus  very  near  to  you  now?  "  and 
the  head  bowed  in  quiet  assent.  The  eyes 
began  to  wear  that  stony  look  where  specu- 


75  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

lation  is  lost.  Thefather  moved  his  fingers 
rapidly  before  them,  and  they  did  not 
wink.       He    bowed  over   her — "Do  you 

know  me,  K ^?"    One  slight  movement 

showed  that  consciousness,  though  fading 
fast,  was  not  quite  gone.  To  test  this 
further,  he  asked  the  mother  to  put  the 
same  question.  She  hesitated  an  instant, 
saying,  "  Do  not  disturb  her,  she  is  almost 

gone  ;  "  but  yielded  at  length.      "  K , 

do  you  know  mother  ?  "  But  in  that  brief 
instant  the  curtain  had  fallen;  the  senses 
were  closed  against  all  approach ;  and 
gently  as  an  infant  falls  to  sleep  on  its 
mother's  breast,  she,  our  darling,  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus.  Just  as  the  morning  light] 
was  pencilling  the  horizon,  and  the  early, 
dawn  was  waking  up  a  sleeping  world,  she 
awoke  Avhere  there  is  no  more  niglit,  in 
the  world  of  everlasting  day. 

In  comparing  this  experience  with  that 
of  the  preceding  sketch,  the  impression  is 
deepened  as  to  the  influence  of  natural 
disposition  upon  the  religious  life.     In  th^ 


LESSON'S    IM   SORROW.  "jC} 

the  elder  sister,  Divine  Grace  had  to  con- 
tend with  timidity  and  self-distrust  ;  which 
were  overcome  only  at  the  last  moment, 
and  then  without  any  marked  sign  of  tri- 
umph. In  the  present  case,  a  nature  more 
self-reliant  afforded  an  easier  conquest  of 
the  fear  of  death.  No  small  portion  of  our 
discomfort  arises  from  not  taking  into  ac- 
count our  constitutional  temperament,  in 
the  attempt  to  analyze  our  Christian  state. 
All  Christian  experience  cannot  be  run  in 
the  same  mould.  The  elements  may  be 
the  same,  but  the  combinations  will  vary  ; 
and  the  forces  to  be  overcome  will  be  dif- 
ferent. In  the  de\'elopment  of  the  spiritual 
life  the  Holy  Ghost  may  be  expected  to 
recognize  the  original  traits  which  stamp 
on  each  believer  an  individuality  of  his 
own.  Upon  the  preservation  of  this  indi- 
viduality depends  largely  the  value  of  the 
testimony,  which  each  shall  deliver  to  the 
glory  of  the  grace  that  each  may  have  en- 
joyed. It  may  be  that  the  blending  of 
these  different  experiences,  like  the 
different  chords  in  music,   shall  constitute 


8o  THE   BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR     . 

the  harmony  of  song  forever  heard  in  the 
Upper  Temple. 

Even  this  does  not  exhaust  the  lesson 
taught  in  these  two  sketches.  There  is  the 
exhibition  of  the  Divine  Sovereignty  in 
shaping  the  whole  character  and  life,  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave,  for  uses  known 
only  to  Himself  in  the  eternal  world.  The 
natural  traits  themselves,  the  discipline 
of  Providence  under  which  these  are  de- 
veloped, and  the  operations  of  grace  by 
which  these  in  turn  are  modified — all  are 
of  one  piece  in  the  Divine  plan.  The 
blending  of  these  factors  in  the  one  result 
was  designed  from  the  beginning.  In  the 
lives  protracted  through  three  and  four- 
score years,  the  web  is  too  complex  for  us 
to  distinguish  the  lines  where  these  various 
influences  meet  and  blend.  But  in  these 
early  deaths  the  process  is  more  easily 
traced.  Why,  for  example,  should  this 
young  girl  be  endowed  with  rare  personal 
charms,  without  the  ambition  even  to  ap- 
pear in  society,  unless  the  Lord  was  thus 
removing,  a  snare  from  her  feet,    and   pre- 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  8 1 

paring  her  for  the  early  sacrifice  to  which 
she  was  called  ?  How  assuring  the  truth 
that  we  and  our  times  are  all  in  His  hands, 
from  life's  dawn  to  its  close  ! 

But  the  special  lesson  taught  in  this 
bereavement,  is  the  mystery  that  lies  in 
life  and  in  death.  Whence  come  these 
shadows  upon  our  earthly  path,  from  the 
realities  of  the  Upper  World  ?  And  whence 
these  glimpses  of  the  Heavenly  State,  which 
sometimes  shed  its  radiance  upon  the  face 
of  the  dying  saint  ?  Undoubtedly  we  must 
abide  solely  by  the  teachings  of  the  in- 
spired Word ;  and  in  deference  to  its  reserve 
on  all  these  points,  we  must  repress  the 
vain  imaginings  which  we  are  prone  to 
indulge.  But  with  God  and  Heaven  in 
immediate  prospect,  and  with  the  Holy 
Ghost  within  the  soul  preparing  it  for  the 
early  enjoyment  of  both,  is  it  strange  that 
a  foretaste  should  be  afforded  of  that 
spiritual  world  to  which  it  is  akin  ? 

The  lines  herewith  appended  seem  to 
harmonize  with  the  sketch  given  above : 


82  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    Ok 

'<  It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, 
A  world  we  do  not  see  ; 
Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 
May  bring  us  there  to  be. 

"  Its  gentle  breezes  fan  our  cheek  ; 
Amid  our  worldly  cares. 
Its  gentle  voices  whisper  love, 
And  mingle  with  our  prayers. 

'•Sweet  hearts  around  us  throb  and  beat, 
Sweet  helping  hands  are  stirred, 
And  palpitates  the  veil  between 
With  breathings  almost  heard. 

«'  The  silence — awful,  sweet  and  calm — 
They  have  no  power  to  break  ; 
For  mortal  words  are  not  for  them 
To  utter  or  partake. 

♦•  So  thin,  so  soft,  so  sweet  they  glide. 
So  near  to  press  they  seem  — 
They  seem  to  lull  us  to  our  rest. 
And  melt  into  our  dream. 

••  And  in  the  hush  of  rest  they  bring 
'Tis  easy  now  to  see, 
How  lovely,  and  how  sweet  a  pa<:s. 
The    hour  of  death  may  be. 

••  To  close  the  eye,  and  clo?e   the  ear. 
Wrapped  in  a  trance  of  bliss, 
And  gently  dream  in  loving  arms 
To  swoon  to  that — from  this." 


IV. 

••  My  Father,  say,  must  this  pet  lamb  be  given  ? 
Oh,    Thou  hast  many  such,  dear  Lord  in  Heaven, 
And  a  soft  voice  said,  •  Nobly  hast  thou  striven  ; 
But — peace,  be  still.'  " 

Within  fifteen  months  we  were  called  to 
the  surrender  of  another,  the  youngest  of 
our  fold,  who  had  just  passed  her  seven- 
teenth birthday.  From  early  infancy  she 
was  characterized  by  unusual  gentleness  of 
disposition,  which  became  more  conspicu- 
ous as  her  character  was  developed.  ,There 
was  little  occasion  for  parental  discipline  ; 
and  never  except  for  trivial  faults  arising 
only  from  the  general  imperfection  of  hu- 
man nature.  The  severest  punishment  was 
withholding  from  her  the  manifestations  of 
love,  upon  which  her  young  heart  was  ac- 
customed to  feed.  Her  manner  was  self- 
contained  and  quiet ;  so  that  whilst  affec- 
tionate and  confiding,  she  was  not  obtru- 


84  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

sively  demonstrative.  Her  love  for  others 
was  displayed  rather  in  a  thoughtful  con- 
sideration for  their  convenience  and  com- 
fort ;  and  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  inclina- 
tions was  so  constant  that  it  seemed  to  be 
the  prompting  of  an  instinct.  Her  love 
for  her  mother  mounted  into  worship  ;  and 
the  quiet,  simple  expression  of  it  was  often 
touching  in  its  pathos. 

Her  constitution  was  always  delicate, 
rendering  her  education  necessarily  irregu. 
lar.  The  tenderness  of  her  eyes  prevented 
her  for  weeks  together  from  opening  a 
book,  making  her  dependent  largely  on 
oral  instruction.  In  this  way  she  acquired 
a  complete  knowledge  of  English  grammar ; 
and  could  analyze  the  most  complex  pas- 
sage in  poetry,  without  having  traced  with 
the  eye  a  single  rule  of  syntax.  She  thus 
acquired  a  remarkable  power  of  concentra- 
tion and  abstraction,  which  was  of  incal- 
culable advantage  in  her  later  education. 
Up  to  the  moment  the  hand  of  disease 
arrested  her  studies,  her  lessons  were 
learned  by  simply  hearing  them  read  ;  and 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW,  85 

were  recited  with  such  accuracy  as  secured 
a  high  grade  of  scholarship  in  her  ckiss. 
Her  mind  was  not  rapid  in  its  movement, 
but  her  retention  of  knowledge  was  per- 
fect ;  and  her  habitual  thoughtfulness  in- 
corporated it  with  the  substance  of  her 
intellectual  being.  She  gave  the  promise 
of  ripening  into  a  woman  of  solid  attain- 
ments, notwithstanding  the  disadvantages 
under  which  she  labored  ;  for  thoughtful- 
ness was  equally  with  her  an  intellectual 
and  a  moral  trait. 

She  always  seemed  to  me,  to  be  one  of 
those  children  who  are  sanctified  from  the 
birth.      Her    whole   life   was  so  conspicu- 
ously ruled  by  principle,  and  her  affections 
were  so  determined  by  conscience,  that  we 
never  felt  anxiety  about  her  spiritual  state. 
Her  connection  with  the  church  was  formed, 
however,  at  an  early  period — on  the  7th  of 
June,   187 1,   when  fifteen  and  a  half  years 
old.      It  has  never  been  our  habit  to  press 
the  subject  of  joining  the  church  upon  our 
children    at    an  early    age.      Our  aim  has 
been   to    bring  a  quiet  and  constant  influ- 


86  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OK 

ence  to  bear  upon  them  ;  and  then  to  wait  for 
the  spontaneous  development  of  reHgious 
feeHng  under  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
One  Sabbath,  a  Httle  before  the  date  men- 
tioned above,  I  happened  to  be  alone  with 
her  while  returning  from  church  :  thinking 
it  a  good  opportunity  to  sound  her  upon 
the  subject,  I  said  : 

"  M ,  I  do  not  talk  much  with  you 

about  religion  ;  but  you  must  not  suppose 
this  springs  from  indifference.  I  often 
think  of  it,  and  pray  for  your  conversion. 
You  are  no  longer  a  child,  and  fully  under- 
stand your  duty  and  the  way  of  salvation 
by  Jesus  Christ ;  and  it  would  make  your 
mother  and  myself  very  happy  to  know 
that  you  had  fully  accepted  Him  in  your 
heart." 

I  was  not  wholly  taken  by  surprise, 
though  scarcely  expecting  the  answer  to 
be  so  full  and  satisfactory : 

"Father,  I  have  long  desired  to  unite 
with  the  church,  for  I  do  love  and  trust 
my  Saviour." 

Upon  being   questioned  how  far  back 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  8/ 

these  religious  feelings  could  be  traced,  it 
turned  out — as  I  have  anticipated  in  this 
narrative — that  she  could  assign  no  period 
for  their  commencement.  She  had  never 
known  the  time  when  her  heart  did  not 
turn  to  God  as  her  Portion,  and  to  Jesus 
as  her  Redeemer.  Like  Lydia,  the  Lord 
had  "opened  her  heart,"  and  she  had 
been  drawn  by  a  single  thread  of  love  into 
the  Kingdom.  Not  a  shadow  of  doubt 
rested  upon  her  mind,  or  upon  ours ;  and 
she  went  down  into  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death  without  one  quiver  of 
fear ;  for  to  love  and  to  trust  were  wrought 
into  her  whole  being,  and  she  had  no  con- 
ception of  anything  else. 

I  approach  now  the  record  of  her  fatal 
illness,  which  lasted  altogether  but  a  single 
year.  She  was  taken  down  with  pneu- 
monia on  the  3d  of  February,  1872.  The 
attack  was  severe,  and  blisters  were  freely 
applied  to  relieve  the  pain  ;  but  it  yielded 
under  treatment.  Though  exceedingly 
delicate,  she  seemed  so  far  recovered  that 
her   school   duties   were   resumed.       Our 


88  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

apprehensions  were  too  easily  allayed,  the 
disease  was  by  no  means  conquered.  One 
morning  after  breakfast  she  complained  of 
tightness  across  her  chest,  adding  that  she 
had  felt  it  for  several  days  ;  but  did  not 
speak  of  it,  hoping  it  would  wear  away. 
She    was    immediately   examined    by  her 

brother-in-law,    who    said,      ' '  M ,    lay 

down  your  books  and  go  to  }'our  cham- 
ber ;  "  and  she  succumbed  at  once  under 
another  attack  of  pneumonia.  From  this 
also  she  rallied,  so  as  to  move  about  her 
chamber  as  an  invalid.  The  conviction 
was,  however,  lodged  in  her  mind,  that 
the  struggle  with  disease  was  to  end  in 
death.  Its  grasp  was  so  tenacious,  it 
would  scarcely  leave  without  depositing 
the  germ  which  must  end  in  dissolution. 
On  the  first  of  May,  as  she  retired  to  bed, 
she  exclaimed  : 

"  Well,  here  I  am  on  the  first  of  May, 
and  I  will  be  here  on  the  first  day  of  June, 
and  then  of  July  ;  and  so  on  to  November, 
when  I  will  drop  off!  " 

In    this    prediction,    however,    she  was 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  89 

mistaken.  Before  November  the  traces 
of  pneumonia  had  disappeared  ;  but  the 
evidence  was  only  too  certain  of  that 
wasting  consumption  which  had  carried  off 
her  two  sisters  before  her  eyes.  We  had 
come  to  know  its  signs  too  well  to  be  our- 
selves deceived  by  any  false  hopes  for  her. 
It  was  as  yet  in  its  early  stage  ;  and  though 
unquestionably  doomed,  in  that  beautiful 
Autumnal  month  she  was  able  to  take  easy 
walks  with  her  sisters  in  the  streets,  and 
several  rides  with  us  in  the  open  country 
beyond  the  paved  and  dusty  city.  Her 
testimony  was  constantly  repeated  that  this 
was  only  a  respite,  and  with  it  an  unques- 
tioning submission  to  the  Divine  will : 

"Though  I  am  better,  yet  we  do  not 
know  how  it  will  end  ;  we  do  not  know 
what  is  best  for  us — may  be  if  I  should  get 
well,  in  after  life  I  might  regret  I  had  not 
died  at  this  time." 

In  one  of  her  short  walks  a  funeral  pro- 
cession passed  by.  It  threw  a  shade  over  her 
heart  as  she  said  in  her  simple  way  :  "What 
little  difference  it  makes  in  the  world," 


9©  THE   BROKEN   HOME  ;    OR 

Ah  !  this  thought  of  being  forgotten  b}'- 
the  Hving,  is  it  not  one  of  the  pangs  of  the 
dying  ?  Does  it  not  throw  a  deeper  gloom 
over  the  darkness  of  the  grave  ?  In  the 
anticipation  of  it,  Kirk  White  speaks 
mournfully  thus : 

••  I  shall  sink 
As  sinks  a  stranger  in  the  crowded  streets 
Of  busy  London  ;  some  short  bustle's  caused, 
A  few  inquiries,  and  the  crowds  close  in — 
And  all's  forgotten." 

Our   darling  F paused   once,    like 

this  young  sister,  an  invalid  in  her  evening 
walk,  as  a  funeral  passed — and  half-gaily, 
half-sadly,  said  : 

".  So  will  my  funeral  pass  ;  and  one  will 
say,  '  Whose  funeral  is  that  ?  '  the  answer 

will  be,    '  F P 's  ;  '  and  then  there 

will  be  a  shaking  of  the  head,  '  Poor  girl ! 
she  is  dead  then  ; '  and  they  will  pass  on 
and  forget." 

Ah  !  my  child,  there  are  hearts  in  which 
\-ou  cannot  be  forgotten.  The  tomb  stones 
bear  the  names  of  four,  who  once  made 
this  home  so  happy  ;  but  the  lasting  marble 
will  not  preserve  the  imperishable  memory, 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  91 

like  these  living  hearts  that  feel  each  day 
tiie  pain  of  parting  afresh.  This  must  last 
till  the  sting  is  plucked  away  in  the  joyful 
meeting  above. 

During  the  illness  of  this  dear  child  the 
conversations  were  chiefly  conducted  by 
her  older  sister,  who  was  her  constant 
companion.  This  duty  was  devolved 
upon  her  in  the  belief  that  the  expression 
of  her  feelings  would  be  more  free  and  full 
to  the  sister  with  whom  she  w^as  on  such 
easy  terms,  than  to  ourselves.  From 
notes  carefully  kept  at  the  time,  the  fol- 
lowing statement  was  compiled : 

My   first  conversation   with    her    (says 

G )    were   on  the  3d  of  August.      I 

began  by  saying : 

' '  M ,  you  do  'not  know  what  a  les- 
son in  patience  you  are  to  me  all  the  time; 
do  you  never  feel  impatient  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  reply. 

"It  requires  more  faith,"  I  continued, 
"to  die  young  than  old;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"Yes,"   was  the  reply;    "I   thought 


92  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

after  K 's  death,  that  it  did  not  make 

any  difference  how  soon  it  came  ;  but  then 
I  was  in  perfect  health,  and  this  makes  a 
great  difference.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to 
give  up  all  hope  ;  but  there  were  a  great 
many  '  ifs  '  in  the  way,  and  I  know  I  have 
not  improved  since  then." 

The  last  allusion  was  to  a  remark  made 
some  time  before  by  the  physician,  that  if 
this  and  that  could  be  brought  about,  she 
might  still  get  well.  The  conversation 
between  the  two  sisters  is  resumed  : 

"  Well,  M ,  how  do  you  feel  about 

it?  Are  you  willing  to  have  it  end  either 
way?" 

"  Yes,  I  hope  I  am,"  was  the    answer. 

On  the  first  of  September,  continues  her 
sister,  I  was  telling  her  about  the  Commu- 
nion season  just  passed,  and  from  that  ^\'% 
got  to  speaking  about  the  Resurrection. 

'*  Don't  you  suppose,"  she  asked,  "that 
the  spirits  recognize  each  other  before  they 
get  their  bodies  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,"  answered  the  sister. 

"  It  all  seems  so  strange,    sometimes  I 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  93 

get  completely  lost  when  I  think  about 
death.  Here  we  live  on  from  day  to  day, 
and  to  think  of  it  all  coming  to  an  end — 
nothing  more — it  is  so  strange." 

September  5  th — 

"You  do  not  know,"  she  said  to  her 
sister,  ' '  how  I  shuddered  to-day  when  the 
doctor  remarked  that  I  might  live  ten 
years  in  this  condition.  I  would  a  great 
deal  rather  die.  Life  has  no  enjoyment  to 
one  in  my  condition  :  then,  too,  I  would 
be  a  burden  to  all  around  me." 

*'  You  will  never  be  a  burden,"  was  the 
reply;  "you  are  so  patient  and  cheerful 
that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  wait  on  you  ;  never 
feel  that  way  about  it." 

Resuming  her  thoughts,  she  said  : 

"  What  might  not  happen  in  ten  years  ! 
Why,  mother  might  die,  and  father,  too. 
They  say  my  lung  is  hardening,  it  has  not 
begun  to  soften  yet.  I  never  expect  to 
get  well  ;  sometimes  when  I  am  a  little 
better,  I  hope  ;  and  then  I  feel  may  be  I 
ought  not  to  want  to  get  well-^I  do  not 
know  what  is  best" 


94  THE    BROKEN   HOME  ;    Ofe 

"Yes,"  her  sister  replied,  "death  is 
not  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen.  I 
would  rather  be  in  my  grave  than  have  to 
bear  what  some  women  do." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  rejoined,  "I  think 
about  it  all  the  time.  I  know  it  has  got  to 
be  borne;  it  may  be  nearer  now  than  I 
think." 

' '  Well,  M ,   how  do  you  feel  about 

it?     Do  you  shrink  from  death  ?" 

"  No,   I  do  not  feel  afraid  to  die." 

"  Having  seen  our  sisters  go  so  calmly, " 
it  was  suggested,  * '  makes  us  dread  it 
less." 

"  Yes,  it  does  make  a  great  difference ;" 
and  then  she  added : 

"I  am  so  glad  it  is  I,  and  not  you  or 

sister  M :   you  both  have  ties  that  I 

have  not." 

"But,    M ,    in  a   little   while    you 

would  have  had  the  same  ties." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  that  is  all  in  the  fu- 
ture," 

September  7th  she  opened  the  conver- 
sation with  her  sister : 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  95 

"  Brother  J examined  me  yester- 
day— I  asked  him  to  do  it :  I  want  to  know- 
how  my  lung  is  going-.  He  says  if  I  liad 
a  strong  constitution  I  might  Hve  a  long 
time ;  but  I  know  he  does  not  think  as  the 
doctor  does," 

She  referred  to   K 's  death  about  a 

year  ago,  in  that  indefinite  way  pecuHar  to 
her — avoiding  the  mention  of  her  name  : 

•'That  night  I  wondered  who  would  be 
the  next  to  go  ;  and  then  I  thought  it  was 

eight   years  since  sister  F died,  and 

that  is  a  long  time.  It  may  be  eight  years 
before  another  is  taken.  I  can't  help  filling 
up  when  I  think  of  leaving  you  all." 

October  2d — 

To-day  she  said  she  was  done  with  life, 
and  hoped  she  was  ready  to  die :  she 
thought  she  was,  and  hoped  she  would 
feel  so  when  the  time  came.  She  then 
exacted  of  me  (continues  the  sister)  the 
promise  that  I  would  tell  her  when  the 
doctor  gave  up  all  hope  of  her  recovery  ; 
saying  she  did  not  wish  the  fact  to  be  kept 
from  her. 


g6  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

On  the  2oth  of  November  she  came 
down  stairs  for  the  last  time.  As  she  re- 
tired to  bed  that  night,  she  said  to  her 
mother:  "  I  am  here  now  for  good." 

On    Christmas  day,    her    sister  M 

gave  birth  to  a  babe,  and  the  invahd  was 
assisted  out  of  bed,  and  with  much  effort 
tottered  to  her  sister's  chamber.  When 
the  little  infant  was  placed  in  her  arms,  she 
said,  "  I  never  expected  to  hold  this  baby;" 
Upon  returning  to  her  own  bed,  the  little 
stranger  was  carried  and  laid  at  her  side 
that  she  might  look  at  him.  After  this 
she  never  left  her  couch,  and  spoke  but 
little.  It  may  be  mentioned  here,  that, 
solely  with  a  view  to  her  gratification,  the 
infant  was  baptized  on  the  12th  of  January 
in  her  chamber — the  last  solemn  rite  of  the 
Church  in  which  she  participated. 
January  30th,  1873 — 

At  night  she  called  for  her  mother,  and 
said  : 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say    to    you    that  I 
think  it  will  be  all  over  before   morning." 

"Well,  M ,    do  you    still   feel  that 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  97 

same  sweet  trust  that  you  are  going  right 
to  the  Saviour  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  was  the  answer. 
"  And  you  will  not  be  there  alone,  my 
daughter." 

"No,  no,"  answered  she,  "there  are 
three  there  already." 

"  Have  you  any  request  to  make,  my 
darling?  " 

"No;  you  can  keep  the  coffin  open 
until  the  hour  of  the  funeral,  and  then 
close  it." 

M ,  the  elder  sister,  exclaimed  : 

"Oh,  M ,  don't  talk  about  that!" 

She  turned  and  asked  : 

"  What  was  it  you  asked  me  to  tell  you 
about,  sister  G ?" 

"About  what,  M ?"    not  recallino; 

what  she  referred  to. 

"  You  asked  me  long  ago  to  tell  you 
something  when  I  was  dying." 

"  O,  yes,"  she  replied;  "if  sister  and 
K should  come  to  meet  you." 

The  following  morning  her  mother  said, 
^'Well,    daughter,    you   did   not  leave  us 


98  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

last  night  as  you  thought  you  would  ;  " 
to  which  her  only  answer  was,  "No, 
ma'am." 

January   31st — 

She  lay  with  her  eyes  closed,  only  open- 
ing them  when  addressed,  or  to  fix  them 
on  her  mother,  whom  she  loved  with  an 
affection  approaching  idolatry.  So  com- 
pletely was  she  withdrawn  from  earth  that 
a  fire  directly  across  the  street,  with  all  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  the  engines  at  play, 
did  not  attract  her  notice.  During  this 
long  illness  she  manifested  no  desire  to 
converse  with  her  mother  on  the  subject  of 
her  departure.  The  great  pang  in  dying 
was  the  separation  from  her  which  it  in- 
volved ;  and  she  turned  from  its  contem- 
plation as  too  painful.  With  her  father 
she  was  less  reserved  ;  but  he  was  so  satis- 
fied of  her  preparation  for  the  great  change, 
that  he  was  indisposed  to  vex  her  weakness 
\\ith  frccjuent  conx'ersations.  Still  these 
were  occasionally  held  from  the  beginning 
of  her  sickness  till  its  close,  always  result- 
ing  in   the    unvarying   statement   of    her 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  99 

assured  and  peaceful  hope  in  the  Redeemer, 
whom  she  embraced  as  "  all  her  salvation 
and  her  desire."  There  was  nothing  for 
her,  as  for  us,  but  to  wait  quietly  the  exe- 
cution of  God's  resistless  and  holy  will. 
Alas  !  we  knew  not  the  severity  of  the  test 
to  M'hich  this  submission  was  to  be  sub- 
jected. 

February  ist,  1873 — 

As  the  day  was  rising-  to  its  noon,  it 
became  apparent  that  the  shadows  of  the 
Valley  were  darkening  about  her.  At 
two  in  the  afternoon,  a  weeping  group 
was  gathered  around  her  bed ;  there  was 
but  a  single  prayer  left  to  be  breathed  on 
her  behalf — it  was  for  a  gentle  release. 

•"Oh,"  cried  the  mother,  "if  she  could 
only  be  spared  the  agony  of  suffocation  !  " 

"  She  lies  peacefully,"  replied  the  father, 
"in  a  few  moments  she  will  be  at  rest 
forever." 

Just  then  she  turned  her  head  upon  the 
pillow.  The  movement  was  fatal — a  single 
cough — the  child  was  strangling ! !  !  The 
father  leaped  upon  the  bed  and  raised  the 


lOO  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

skeleton  frame  in  his  arms  :  only  a  single 
cry  of  distress  from  those  bloodless  lips — 
one  despairing  look  at  each  of  the  watch- 
ing circle — one  feeble  clutch  of  the  thin 
fingers  at  the  neck  of  her  dress — and  all 
was  over  !  "  Oh,  my  God  !  "  burst  from 
the  mother's  breaking  heart,  as  the  child 
expired  in  the  father's  arms. 

Oh,  Death,  was  there  no  mercy  in  thy 
pitiless  bosom,  that  at  the  last,  like  a  beast 
of  prey,  thou  must  leap  upon  that  wasted 
form ;  and  with  ruffian  violence  wrench 
away  the  young  life  which  she  was  yielding 
so  gently  up  to  God  ! 

Be  still,  my  soul !  It  is  the  most  solemn 
lesson  Providence  has  ever  taught  thee  of 
THE  AWFULNESS  OF  SIN.  She,  the  gentlest 
of  them  all,  whom  the  Lord  sanctified  even 
from  the  womb  ;  who  never  by  word  or 
sign  betrayed  the  patience  which  possessed 
her  soul — the  most  like  an  angel  of  all  this 
sinning  race  :  because  the  Lord  loved  her 
and  showed  how  fondly  He  had  placed  her 
in  His  bosom — just  because  of  this,  in  His 
dreadful  sovereignty,   He  chose  to  stamp 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW,  lOI 

upon  this  gentle  one  the  seal  of  His  hatred 
of  sin,  when  reduced  even  to  the  least. 

Thou    art   our   martyr,   M !       God 

called  thee  to  honor  Him  by  a  life  of  sweet 
obedience  from  the  cradle  ;  and  then  to 
bear  the  seal  of  His  consuming  holiness  in 
the  agony  of  Death. 

Blessed  witness  for  thy  God,  in  living 
and  in  dying  !  Thou  art  now  beneath  the 
Throne,  where  all  the  martyrs  are ;  and 
the  memory  of  thee  is  to  us  a  constant  call 
from  Heaven. 

•'  We  stood  beside  the  river, 

Whence  all  our  souls  must  go ; 

Bearing  a  loved  one  in  our  arms, 

Our  hearts  repeating  the  alarms 

That  came  across  the  river  ; 

And  saw  the  sun  decline  in  mist, 

That  rose  until  her  brow  it  kissed. 

And  left  it  cold  as  snow. 
•*  Watching  beside  the  river, 

With  every  ebb  and  flow, 

Fond  hopes  within  our  hearts  would  spring, 

Until  another  warning  ring 

Came  o'er  the  fearful  river. 

We  saw  the  flush,  the  brightness  fade, 

The  loving  lips  looked  grieved  and  sad, 

The  white  hands  whiter  grow. 


102  THE   BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

"  Standing  by  the  river, 
We  closed  the  weary  eyes, 
In  Jesus'  arms  we  laid  her  down, 
A  lovely  jewel  for  His  crown. 
He  bore  her  through  the  river, 
And  clothed  her  in  a  robe  so  white, 
Too  beautiful  for  mortal  sight, 
And  took  her  to  the  skies." 


V. 

"  O,  one  after  one  they  flew  away, 
Far  up  to  the  heavenly  blue, 
To  the  better  country,  the  apper  day, 
And — I  wish  I  was  going,  too." 

The  cup  of  sorrow  was  not  yet  full. 
During  two  and  thirty  years,  four  of  the 
six  whom  the  Lord  had  given  to  us  were 
taken  hence  ;  and  now  one  of  the  two  left 
must  be  surrendered  to  Him,  whose  claim 
was  more  perfect  than  our  own.  The 
daughter  who  was  introduced  in  the  pre- 
ceding sketch,  as  leading  her  younger 
sister  sweetly  down  into  the  dark  Vailey, 
is  now  called  to  descend  herself  into  its 
deepest  gloom.  The  following  is  the 
record  of  her  illness  and  death. 

From  early  childhood  she  gave  indica- 
tions of  a  decided  character,  which  did  not 
fail  to  be  fulfilled  in  after  years.  Her  dis- 
tinguishing trait,  at  this  early  period,  was 
the  almost  entire   absence   of  selfishness 


I04  THE    BROKEN   HOME)    OR 

and  wilfulness.    Her  submission  to  parental 
authority  was  prompt  and  easy  ;  and  there 
was,    in    her  youthful   sports,    such  a  sur- 
render of  her  own  preferences  and  tastes 
to  those   of  her  companions,   as   filled  us 
with  surprise.   This  spirit  of  self-abnegation 
marked  her  whole  career  in  life ;  which,  in 
later  years,    might  have  been  ascribed  to 
an  instinctive  prudence  and  discretion — or 
else  to  the  influence  of  a  careful  Christian 
training.      But   it   was  an  original  trait  ex- 
hibited with  as  much  clearness  and  power 
in  childhood  as  in   mature    years  ;    and  it 
stood    in    such    marked  contrast  with  the 
usual    self-will    and    waywardness    of    the 
young,  as  sometimes  to  suggest  the  thought 
of  God's  special  grace  as  its  source.     The 
disclosure  of  her  religious  experience,  when 
brought  into  the  Kingdom,   convinced  us, 
however,    that   it   was  a  natural,    though 
unusual,   trait ;   and  that  she  could  not  be 
classed  with  her  sister,  whose  decease  has 
just  been  presented,  as  one  renewed  from 
the  beginning.      It  made  us  feel  that  God 
had  committed  to  our  care  a  very  precious 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  105 

child,  who,  under  judicious  management, 
would  certainly  expand  into  a  noble  wo- 
man. What  rendered  this  self-denying 
and  yielding  temper  the  more  remarkable, 
was  a  positiveness  of  character,  which  dis- 
criminated her  gentleness  from  a  -negative 
easiness  that  can  be  turned  and  moulded 
by  the  stronger  will  of  those  around  her. 
I  desire  to  emphasize  this  co-ordinate  and 
qualifying  trait,  as  it  early  arrested  my 
attention  and  made  her  an  object  of  study. 
There  is,  perhaps,  no  better  term  by  which 
to  describe  it,  than  the  general  one  em- 
ployed above.  The  word  positiveness, 
va'^ue  as  it  may  appear,  expresses  the  idea 
of  an  all-pervading  quality  that  gave  tone 
and  depth  to  her  character,  without  impair- 
ing its  softness.  It  never  degenerated  into 
wilfulness  or  stubbornness,  but  assumed 
the  form  of  a  quiet  and  amiable  decision. 
I  shall  have  to  signalize  two  occasions,  at 
least,  on  which  this  trait  was  conspicu- 
ously revealed  ;  but  from  the  first  it  ran 
like  a  scarlet  thread  through  her  entire 
history. 


Hl6  THE   BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

This  combination  of  qualities  made  up 
an  interesting  problem,  which  I  was  never 
able  fully  to  resolve.  If  constitutionally 
unselfish,  ever  postponing  her  own  enjoy- 
ment to  that  of  others,  it  was  not  due  to 
any  deficiency  of  will  ;  which  any  one 
could  discern  lying  back,  and  hidden  like 
the  spinal  column  in  the  human  body. 
Those  familiar  with  her  in  later  life  recog- 
nized her  as  a  person  of  assured  convic- 
tions and  great  tenacity  of  purpose.  She 
never  was,  either  as  child  or  woman,  an 
easy-going  facile  person.  However  in- 
clined modestly  to  defer  to  others  whom 
she  considered  intelligent  and  wise,  she 
framed  her  own  independent  judgments, 
and  did  not  hold  them  lightly  in  her  grasp. 
This  amiable  independence  of  thought  and 
character,  was  one  of  the  points  of  resem- 
blance to  her  mother ;  whose  quiet  deci- 
sion of  mind  and  temper  has  made  her  so 
invaluable  a  counsellor,  a  helpful  as  well  as 
a  loving  companion  to  me. 

When  about  thirteen  and    a  half  years 
old,  the  subject  of  this   sketch,   with  her 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  lO/ 

sister  just  above  her  in  age,  united  with 
the  church.  I  was  not  surpised  when  she 
announced  to  me  her  interest  on  the  sub- 
ject of  personal  rehgion.  I  looked  for  her 
to  ghde  into  the  communion  of  the  church, 
as  soon  as  mature  enough  to  take  in  the 
import  of  such  a  step.  I  was  not  prepared, - 
however,  for  the  revelation  which  she 
actually  made.  With  her  characteristic 
decision  she  took  me  one  evening  into  the 
piazza,  sa}'ing,  "  Father,  I  want  to  talk 
with  you  alone."  She  then  disclosed  a 
struggle  in  her  little  bosom,  to  which  I 
listened  with  unbounded  astonishment. 
This  immature  girl,  who  I  thought  had 
only  to  wake  to  full  self-knowledge  in  order 
to  find  herself  within  the  Kingdom,  had 
been  battling  for  weeks  with  almost  every 
form  of  skepticism  and  infidelity.  She  had 
never  read  a  line  in  any  book  which  sug- 
gested these  difficulties.  She  had  never 
talked  with  any  one  infected  with  these 
notions  :  her  intercourse  had  been  exclu- 
sively with  persons  who  reverenced  and 
loved  the  Bible.     And  then,  these  matters 


I08  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OK 

seemed  so  far  beyond  and  above  her  years. 
How  came  this  child  to  be  agitated  with 
doubts  about  the  being  and  personahty  of 
God — about  the  immortahty  of  the  soul — 
whether  death  was  not  the  final  sleep — 
whether  all  religion  was  not  a  mere  super- 
stition— the  Bible  a  fiction — Jesus  Christ 
an  impostor — Eternity,  the  Judgment, 
Heaven  and  Hell,  mere  crazy  dreams  such 
as  come  into  the  mind  of  some  half-frenzied 
poet  ?  The  battle  was  well-nigh  fought, 
when  she  uncovered  the  secret  to  me ;  and 
perhaps  all  that  was  needed  to  complete 
the  victory,  was  just  to  tell  the  story  of 
her  temptations.  But  as  I  listened,  I  felt 
that  the  Devil  could  teach  a  child  much 
that  was  beyond  her  years.  It  was,  at 
least,  intensely  interesting,  as  an  instance 
of  precocious  thought,  to  follow  her  men- 
tal processes  as  she  developed  these  va- 
rious speculations,  and  formed  her  own 
independent  refutation  of  them.  The  re- 
sult was  that  she  settled  down  into  an  in- 
telligent belief  in  Christianity,  which  was 
never  afterwards  shaken  by  a  solitary  doubt. 


LESSONS    XN    SORROW.  IO9 

The  next  important  step  in  her  history 
was  her  marriage  in  May,  1873  ;  which 
took  place  at  a  time  of  great  domestic 
sorrow,    being  only  three  months  after  the 

sad  death  of  our  martyr,    M ,  already 

recorded.  It  afforded  opportunity,  how- 
ever,  for  displaj'ing  the  universal  esteem 
and  love  in  which  she  was  held.  Ihe 
church  in  which  the  marriage  was  solemn- 
ized, was  elaborately  and  exquisitely  fes- 
tooned and  decorated  with  flowers  by  a 
multitude  of  loving  hands  ;  and  a  grateful 
surprise  was  furnished  us  by  those  who 
combined  to  make  the  occasion  one  of 
gladness,  and  to  show  the  appreciation  in 
which  this  dear  child  was  held — giving  us 
more  pleasure  in  the  memory  of  it,  now 
that  she  has  passed  into  the  Paradise  above 
where  the  flowers  bloom  and  never  fade. 

On  the  29th  of  June,  1874,  she  gave 
birth  to  her  little  babe,  left  to  us  a  legacy 
of  love.  From  this  sickness  she  never 
rallied,  and  the  fatal  disease  was  soon  de- 
veloped which  took  her  away.  Her  health 
had  not  been  previously  robust.     For  two 


no  THE   BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

or  three  years  she  had  been  troubled  with 
a  bronchial  affection,  which,  united  with 
dyspeptic  symptoms,  had  often  excited 
apprehension  that  she  might  be  called 
eventually  to  follow  her  sisters,  whose  de- 
cline had  been  indicated  by  similar  local 
disorders.  Through  the  remainder  of  that 
year  the  disease  seemed  to  be  held  at  bay. 
Her  appetite  was  sustained,  the  food  easily 
digested,  and  daily  rides  into  the  open 
country  were  enjoyed.  But  these  appear- 
ances were  deceptive,  and  the  fatal  con- 
sumption was  secretly  sapping  the  system 
within.  From  the  4th  to  the  26th  of 
January,  1875,  I  was  separated  from  her, 
being  called  to  a  distance  in  the  perform- 
ance of  certain  ecclesiastical  duties.  Upon 
my  return  it  was  only  too  manifest  that 
her  case  was  hopeless,  and  that  her  de- 
parture could  not  long  be  postponed.  It 
became  now  an  imperative  duty  to  break 
through  the  reserve  hitherto  maintained, 
and  as  gently  as  possible  to  intimate  the 
change  that  was  inevitable.  So  long  as  a 
particle  of  hope  remained  of  even  possible 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  tU 

recovery,  we  had  been  careful  to  sustain 
her  spirits  by  cheerful  anticipation  of  tlie 
future.  Confronted  now  by  tlie  certain t\' 
of  death,  Christian  faithfulness  required 
that  she  should  not  be  taken  una\\-ares. 

January  29th,   1875  — 

On  this  morning  I  determined  to  know 
the  worst  from  her  physician,  A\'ho  said  that 
she  had  evidently  lost  ground,  but  might 
rally  again  with  a  favorable  turn  in  the 
weather ;  but  that  there  was  no  chance  for 
her  recovery.  Upon  going  up  to  her 
chamber,  I  found  that  she  had  drawn  out 
of  him  a  similar  opinion. 

"I  have  at  last,"  she  said,  "gotten 
from  the  doctor  a  candid  statement  of  my 
case." 

I  mentioned  frankly  what  he  had  just 
said  to  me;  but  went  on  to  speak  hopefully 
of  what  might  take  place  in  her  favor  even 
yet.  About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  same  da)',  after  she  had  undressed. 
I  lifted  her  gently  from  the  chair  in  which 
she  had  been  sitting  and  bore  her  to  the 
bed.      As  soon  as  she  was  composed  from 


112  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    Ok 

the  slight  fatigue,  I  sat  beside  her  and 
embraced  the  opportunity  to  speak  with 
her  alone.  Indeed,  she  opened  the  con- 
versation : 

"  I  find  it  impossible  on  a  sick  bed  to 
keep  up  any  regularity  in  my  prayers." 

"Of  course,"  I  replied,  "  that  cannot 
be  helped  ;  but  prayer  does  not  consist  in 
the  use  of  words  and  forms.  Our  sweet- 
est prayers  are  often  mere  ejaculations, 
sometimes  not  expressed  at  all.  but  only 
the  lifting  up  of  a  thought  or  desire.  Be- 
sides, prayer  is  the  constant  posture  of  the 
soul  before  God,  in  which  sense  we  are 
said  to  '  pray  always.'  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  so  ;  and  we  can  thus  *  pray 
without  ceasing.'  Whenever  I  wake  in 
the  night,  I  breathe  silently  my  prayer  to 
God."  Then  she  added,  after  a  little  pause  : 

*'  I  am  so  thankful  that  I  was  not  left 
to  put  off  the  great  matter  of  my  salvation 
till  this  time  of  sickness  and  weakness. 
That  is  a  thing  already  done,  and  some- 
how I  have  not  a  cloud  or  shadow  of  doubt 
as  to  my  .interest  in  Christ." 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  II3 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  grateful  for," 
I  answered,  "  that  God  should  put  a  check 
upon  Satan,  and  not  allow  him  to  tempt 
you  with  any  doubts  or  fears." 

"  I  know,"  she  rejoined,  "  that  I  am  a 
sinner  ;  but  I  feel  that  I  am  forgiven  and 
accepted." 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,  and  we  know  that 
the  blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin  ; 
and  this  blood  has  been  already  shed  ;  we 
have  only  to  rely  on  it  and  escape  from 
the  curse." 

"I  had  a  great  struggle,"  she  said, 
"  when  the  doctor  pronounced  that  I  was 
bound  to  go  like  my  sisters.  Though  I 
fcit  ni}'  hope  revive  a  little  later,  yet  I 
knew  how  uncertain  it  was,  and  that  the 
least  thing  might  set  me  back." 

"  Well,    G ,    we   must  put  all    that 

right  into  God's  hands,  and  let  Him  dis- 
pose of  you  as  He  will — knowing  that  it 
will  be  ordered  aright  and  in  love." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  and  repc.itcd  th.e 
lines  : 

"  Sweet   to  lie  pas'^ive  in  His  hands, 
And  know  no  will  but  His." 


i  14  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

Here  the  conversation  was  abruptly- 
terminated  by  some  one  coming  in.  The 
struggle  to  which  she  referred  took  place 
at  least  three  months  before  her  decease. 
Her  statement  was  more  full  to  her  mother 
than  to  myself.  To  her  she  mentioned 
that  the  conflict  was  long  protracted,  be- 
fore she  could  entertain  the  prospect  of 
death  with  composure  and  acquiescence. 
The  instinct  of  life  is  strong  within  us  all, 
and  it  was  not  feeble  in  her  ;  and  as  she 
looked  upon  her  husband  and  babe  she 
felt  that  life  had  many  and  great  attrac- 
tions for  her.  Resignation,  then,  with  her 
had  not  the  faintest  trace  of  fanaticism. 
Her  reason  and  her  heart  appreciated  the 
sweetness  of  life  to  one  who  lay  in  the 
bosom  of  the  tenderest  relations ;  and  it 
was  not  easy,  at  once  and  forever,  to  re- 
sign the  hope  of  being  restored  to  those 
whom  she  passionately  loved.  Yet  sharp 
as  the  conflict  was,  it  was  in  keeping  with 
her  perfect  unselfishness  to  lock  it  up  in 
the  secrecy  of  her  own  breast." 

' '  The  world  would  not  have  tempted 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  11$ 

me,"  she  said  to  her  mother,  "to  reveal 
what  was  passing  in  my  mind  ;  for  it  would 
have  added  so  much  to  your  distress  to 
know  how  I  was  struggling  against  my 
fate." 

The  conflict  ended  in  complete  victory. 
The  love  of  life  itself  was  laid  a  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar  of  obedience ;  and  with 
characteristic  decision  it  was  laid  there 
never  to  be  taken  up  any  more.  From 
that  moment  her  resignation  was  perfect ; 
and  she  remained  in  a  state  of  restful  sub- 
mission to  her  Heavenly  Father's  will,  till 
the  scene  was  closed.  Indeed,  her  only 
strong  desire  was  that  the  end  might  not 
be  long  postponed. 

"  I  do  not  want  mother  to  be  broken 
down  by  constant  and  painful  nursing," 
she  said  ;  "  I  wish  her  to  be  spared  to  you 
all  and  to  my  child." 

It  was  one  of  the  forms  in  which  her 
spirit  of  entire  self-abnegation  found  utter- 
ance. 

February  ist,  1875. — In  a  conversation 
with  her  mother^   she  remarked : 


1 1(5  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

•'I  do  not  think  that  I  can  Hve  till 
Spring,  for  I  am  getting  so  weak.  In  case 
I  should  sink  suddenly  and  be  too  feeble 
to  speak,  I  wish  you  all  to  understand  that 
I  hope  I  am  entirely  ready  to  go — quite 
ready  and  willing  to  depart." 

"I  often  think,"  her  mother  replied, 
"  of  the  happy  meeting  between  you  and 
your  sisters  in  Heaven  ;  and  do  you  know 
I  am  sure  your  influence  and  example  had 
much  to  do  in  preparing  them  for  that 
happy  world  where  you  will  soon  join 
them." 

"Mother,  do  you  really  think  so?" 
she  inquired  in  a  lively  tone. 

' '  Yes,  I  am  perfectly  sure  of  it,  my 
daughter." 

"Oh,  mother,  I  am  so  glad  you  have 
told  me  of  it." 

More  than  these  she  will  meet  upon  the 
mount  of  God,  whom  she  has  persuaded 
to  the  Saviour's  feet.  Several  of  her  Sab- 
bath-school scholars  acknowledge  her  influ- 
ence in  leading  them  to  Christ ;  and  the  last 
act  of  Christian  faithfulness  was  her  sending;- 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  II7 

for  others  during  her  ilhiess,  to  entreat 
them  to  accept  the  salvation  now  so 
precious  to  herself.  I  believe  they  will  be 
given  as  her  crown. 

February  4th. — She  expressed  to-day 
some  apprehension  lest  her  husband's 
faith  should  be  shaken  by  her  death. 

"  He  has  such  confidence  in  the  effi- 
cacy of  prayer,  and  knows  how  many  and 
fervent  have  been  the  petitions  for  my  re- 
covery— when  he  finds  it  abortive,  I  fear 
he  may  swing  to  the  other  extreme  and 
doubt  the  value  of  all  prayer." 

"That  effect  will  be  temporary,"  I 
replied,  "even  if  it  should  be  realized  at 
all.  He  will  soon  recover  upon  the  true 
view  that  for  all  contingent  blessings,  in 
reference  to  which  God's  will  cannot  ante- 
cedently be  known,  our  petitions  must 
necessarily  be  conditioned  upon  a  wisdom 
that  is  higher  than  our  own."  "Poor 
fellow,"  she  added,  "I  do  feel  so  sorry 
for  him,  "and  wish  he  could  be  spared 
the  suffering  he  must  undergo." 

"  In  view  of  your  increasing  feebleness," 


Il8  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

I  said,  "  had  you  not  better  make  all  your 
wishes  known,  and  dispose  of  all  your 
little  effects,  before  you  become  too  weak 
to  talk  or  even  to  think  much  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  doing  that." 

"  Have  you  any  directions  to  give  about 
your  babe  ?" 

"  No  ;  Mr.  has  promised  to  give 

her  up  entirely  to  mother  ;  I  feel  no  con- 
cern about  her ;  as  long  as  you  live,  you 
will  take  care  of  her  as  your  own." 

February  6th. — On  this  day  her  vener- 
able grandfather,  who  had  been  with  us 
three  months,  expressed  great  sorrow  at 
the  necessity  of  his  departure  ;  and  offered 
to  make  this  bend  to  our  wishes  if  we  de- 
sired him  to  remain.  This  last  suggestion 
startled  her,  as  implying  our  expectation 
of  her  immediate  release. 

"No,"  I  replied;  "if  that  were  so, 
your  grandfather  would  not  leave.  On 
the  contrary,  you  may  linger  a  good  while  ; 
and  his  plans  are  so  cast  that  he  cannot 
well  remain  longer  with  us.  We  cannot 
tell  anything  about  your  case;    you  may 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  1 19 

rally  and  go  for  months,  or  you  may  take 
a  sudden  turn  and  go  off  quickly. " 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  sorry  to  linger  in  this 
emaciated  condition  ;  I  would  only  suffer 
with  bedsores  in  the  warm  weather." 

"That  is  not  likely,"  was  my  answer; 
"my  impression  is  that  you  will  be  with 
us  but  a  short  time  now." 

"That  is  my  own  view,"  was  her  re- 
sponse. 

February  7th,  Sabbath. — On  this  day 
her  symptoms  were  increasingly  bad,  with 
swollen  extremities  and  other  troubles.  I 
asked  "  if  she  still  enjoyed  peace  of  mind, 
and  was  conscious  of  a  quiet,  steady  trust 
in  the  Redeemer." 

"Yes,"  was  the  cheerful  reply,  "per- 
fect peace  of  mind  ;  the  only  thing  I  dread 
is  the  physical  pain  of  dying.      I  cannot 

help  remembering  M 's  last  struggle, 

and  dread  it  for  myself." 

"  Her  case  was  exceptional,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "it  does  not  occur  often  ;  for  in 
all  the  death-bed  scenes  I  have  witnessed, 
hers  is  the  only  one  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw. 


120  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR, 

The  probabilities  are  that  you  will  be  spared 
her  experience.  At  any  rate,  leave  that 
to  God  and  accept  ail  that  He  ordains." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  for  it  will  be  very 
short,  if  it  should  occur." 

Referring  to  her  prevailing  peace  of 
mind,  I  inquired  "whether  she  could  dis- 
tinguish between  this  and  the  listlessness 
arising  from  weakness  and  exhaustion  ?" 

"  I  am  sometimes  too  weak  even  to 
think  ;  but  at  other  moments  lam  stronger, 
especially  during  the  hours  of  night ;  and 
then  my  peace  is  greatest,  as  I  pour  out 
my  heart  before  God.  But  pray  constantly 
for  me,"  she  added. 

I  could  only  reply  : 

"  There  is  not  an  hour  of  the  day  that  1 
do  not  pray  for  you,  my  darling," 

February  9th,  Tuesday. — Her  weakness 
prevented  her  from  speaking,  except  to 
indicate  her  wants.  It  also  provoked  the 
dreadful  cough  which  racked  her  frame, 
so  that  conversation  was  almost  precluded, 
though  so  much  desired  on  both  sides. 
But  wishing  to  know  her  spiritual  state  as 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  121 

the  case  went  on,  I  again  inquired  :  '  'G , 

are  you  still  in  the  sweet  and  trustful  frame 
of  which  }-ou  have  before  spoken,  having  no 
dread  of  the  chanfje  that  is  awaitinfr  vou  ?" 

"  Yes, "  she  replied,  "strangely  so;  I 
have  alwa}'s  recoiled  from  the  thought  of 
dying  ;  and  when  I  saw  my  sisters  so  calm, 
I  wondered  how  it  was  possible  and 
thought  I  could  not  be  like  them  in  their 
situation.  But  I  ieel  entire  willingness  to 
go — only,"  she  added,  "it  will  be  so 
dreadlul-dreary  to  \'Ou  all  when  I  am 
gone,  though  I  say  it." 

"  Ah  !  \-ou  must  not  think  of  us,  my 
child  ;  God  k-nows  the  house  will  be  dark 
and  chill  enough,  when  )"ou  are  gone;  but 
the  great  concern  with  you  is  lO  be  ready 
ior  that  stupendous  change." 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  she  replied  ;  "death  is 
solemn  enough  when  it  meets  you  in  the 
streets,  or  read  about  it  as  happening  to 
oihers  ;  but  it  is  another  thing  when  it  sits 
clown  before  you  on  the  bed,  and  }Ou 
must  look  at  it  face  to  lace,  day  after  day, 
ior  yourself." 


122  THE  BROKEN   HOME;   OR 

' '  What  a  blessed  grace  is  given  you, 
then,  my  child,  if  you  can  do  so  ;  and  with 
air  that  it  imports,  feel  that  for  you  the 
sting  of  death-  is  taken  away." 

"Yes,"  she  rejoined,  "and  it  is  all  of 
grace." 

February  nth,  Thursday. — Another 
snatch  of  conversation  : 

"One  thing  is  strange  to  me,"  she  said, 
"  1  have  not  been  able  to  read  my  Bible 
much  of  late,  yet  its  passages  come  up  to 
vne  with  so  much  freshness  and  power — 
frequently  when  I  wake  out  of  sleep,  at 
night,  this  is  the  case." 

■'There  is  nothing  strange  in  it,"  I  an- 
swered, "since  one  of  the  ways  in  which 
the  Holy  Spirit  performs  His  office  as 
Comforter,  is  by  bringing  to  our  remem- 
brance whatsoever  Christ  has  said." 

"Yes,"  she  rejoined,  "and  that  is  ex- 
actly what  the  Saviour  promised  to  His 
disciples." 

After  a  pause  she  added  : 

"  One  thing  has  greatly  Gomforted  me : 
I  thought  that  when  I  should  be  dying,  the 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  12$ 

uppermost  feeling  would  be  the  anticipa- 
tion of  meeting  my  sisters  in  Heaven.  But 
that  is  quite  in  the  background  ;  the  great 
joy  is  the  thought  of  being  with  my 
Saviour." 

After  this  she  only  said  : 

"  There  is  so  much  I  would  like  to  say 

to  you  all  ;  but  I  cannot  talk,    because  of 

this  great  weakness  and  this  awful  cough, 

which  begins  as  soon  as  I  open    my   lips." 

"And  that  prevents  us  from  saying 
much  to  you,  my  child ;  for  you  cannot 
help  answering  back,  and  so  we  are  all 
shut  up  together." 

February  I2th,  Friday. — After  break- 
fast her  linen  was  changed,  and  her  bed 
prepared,  as  she  reclined  for  a  few  mo- 
ments upon  the  lounge.  Happening  to 
enter  the  room  just  then,  I  exclaimed  : 

"  How  comfortable  you  look  !  It  must 
be  a  relief  to  change  your  position." 

"  Oh,  no,"  was  the  response,  "  I  must 
get  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

She  was  replaced  in  bed  in  the  sitting 
posture   she  had  preferred   for  the  week 


124  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

past,  propped  up  with  pillows.  I  did  not 
apprehend  the  case  ;  for  seeing  her,  as  I 
supposed,  comfortable  as  usual,  I  left  the 
house  to  execute  an  arrangement  pre- 
viously made  with  her — that  I  should  go 
to  the  cemetery  and  look  at  the  tomb  in 
which  she  was  soon  to  be  placed,  the  care 
of  which  we  had  been  compelled  for  some 
time  to  neglect.  Thence  I  proceeded  to 
the  postofhce  for  letters,  so  as  to  avoid  any 
further  absence  during  the  day.  Upon 
entering  the  house,  I  was  startled  by  a 
sudden  call  over  the  banisters  to  hurry  up- 
stairs. She  had  missed  me  and  called  for 
me.  When  I  entered  the  room,  a  glance 
revealed  that  her  feet  were  already  in  the 
cold  river. 

"  Speak  to  her,"  said  the  mother,  "and 
see  if  she  will  recognise  you." 

"  Not  for  the  world/'  I  answered. 

She  was  in  a  gentle  sleep,  with  her  head 
resting  one  side  on  her  pillow.  A  half- 
hour's  watching  and  then  the  sleep  deep- 
ened into  that  which  knows  no  waking. 
At  half-past  ii  o'clock  a.  m.,  without  the 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  125 

quivering  of  a  muscle  or  the  heaving  of  a 
sigh,  her  patient  spirit  had  joined  the  wor- 
shipers on  high.  Our  last  prayer  was 
heard  ;  and  the  last  dread  that  threw  a 
shade  over  her  dying  hour,  was  spared  to 
us  and  to  her. 

February  14,  1875,  Sabbath. — On  the 
afternoon  of  a  beautiful  Sabbath  the  largest 
cortege  I  have  ever  seen  at  a  private  fune- 
ral, followed  her  remains  to  their  last  rest- 
ing place  ;  and  a  whole  community 
mourned  for  one  whom  so  many  loved, 
as  we  put  her  to  sleep  by  the  side  of  the 
sisters  whom  she  had  followed  to  the 
skies. 

Sitting  down  in  the  twilight  in  our  dis- 
mantled home,  we  thought  of  the  "  Man- 
sion "  above,  already  furnished  with  the 
household  waiting  to  greet  us  on  the 
threshold  when  we,  too,  shall  be  called. 


"  These  border-lands  are  calm  and  still, 
And  solemn  are  their  silent  shades  ; 
And  my  heart  welcomes  them,  until 
The  light  of  life's  long  evening  fades. 


126  THE   BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

"  I  heard  them  spoken  of  with  dread, 
As  fearful  and  unquiet  places  ; 
Shades,  where  the  living  and  the  dead 
Look  sadly  in  each  other's  faces. 

"  But  since  Thy  hand  hath  led  me  here, 
And  I  have  seen  the  border-land  ; 
Seen  the  dark  river  flowing  near, 
Stood  on  its  brink,  as  now  I  stand — 

•'  There  has  been  nothing  to  alarm 

My  trembling  soul ;   how  could  I  fear 
While  thus  encircled  with  Thine  arm  ? 
I  never  felt  Thee  half  so  near. 

"  They  say  the  waves  are  dark  and  deep, 
That  faith  has  perished  in  the  river  ; 
They  speak  of  death  with  fear,  and  weep 
Shall  my  soul  perish  ?     Never  !  never  ! 

"  And  since  I  first  was  brought  so  near 
The  stream  that  flows  to  the  Dead  Sea, 
I  think  that  it  grows  more  clear 
And  shallow  than  it  used  to  be. 

«'  I  cannot  see  the  golden  gate 

Unfolding  yet  to  welcome  me ; 
I  cannot  yet  anticipate 
The  joy  of  Heaven's  jubilee — 

"  But  I  will  calmly  watch  and  pray, 
Until  I  hear  my  Saviour's  voice 
Calling  my  happy  soul  away, 
To  see  His  glory  and  rejoice." 


VI. 

•'  But  there  is  more  than  I  can  see, 
And  what  I  see,  1  leave  unsaid, 
Nor  speak  it,  knowing  Death  has  made 
His  darkness  beautiful  with  thee." 

"Your  mother  is  ill — come  to  her  at 
once."  Such  was  the  rasping  message 
delivered  one  crisp  November  morning, 
forty  years  ago.  Ah  !  we  have  but  one 
mother  on  earth  ;  who  can  replace  her  in 
our  thought?  She  who  bore  us  in  the 
walls  of  her  flesh,  in  the  strange  commu- 
nity of  a  dual  life  :  she  who  nourished 
us.  in  feeble  infancy,  from  her  own 
substance  :  she  whose  smile  woke  us 
to  the  first  response  of  lo\'e  :  she 
whose  constant  sympathy  assuaged  the 
sorrows  of  childliood,  and  whose  guardian 
providence  shielded  from  the  snares  ot 
opening  manhood  :  she  to  whom  was  paid 
the  homage  of  youthful  hearts,    mounting 


128  THE   BROKEN   HOME  ;    OR, 

to  such  lower  worship  as  may  be  given  to 
a  mortal :  such  was  the  mother  who,  in 
nature's  extremity,  craved  the  presence  of 
her  son. 

Through  the  life  of  a  generation  she  had 
filled  the  responsible  position  of  a  Chris- 
tian pastor's  wife,  for  which  she  was  emi- 
nently fitted  both  by  nature  and  by  grace. 
Possessing  a  vigorous  intellect,  enlarged 
by  generous  culture,  she  found  opportunity 
even  amidst  domestic  cares  for  its  continual 
improvement.  The  habit  of  early  rising 
gave  her  an  hour  before  the  day  began  its 
busy  hum  ;  and  through  the  long  working 
hours  she  would  snatch  brief  intervals  for 
reading.  Some  solid  book  was  always  on 
her  table,  and  some  subject  always  on  her 
mind  for  study  and  conversation.  Thus 
she  became  the  companion  of  her  husband, 
sharing  his  thoughts  and  pursuits  ;  and  the 
transient  clergyman  who  passed  a  night 
beneath  her  roof,  never  failed  to  carry 
away  a  deep  impression  of  her  intelligence 
and  worth. 

For  the  office  of  a  mother  she  was  sin- 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  12g 

gularly  qualified.  Always  the  teacher  of 
her  young  children,  she  had  the  rare 
faculty  of  letting  herself  down  into  their 
minds,  and  of  feeling  a  real  sympathy  with 
all  their  emotions.  So  entire  was  the  as- 
cendancy she  thereby  acquired,  that  her 
sons,  in  all  the  rudeness  of  boyhood,  never 
knew  the  time  when  they  would  not  cheer- 
fully exchange  the  sports  and  playmates 
of  the  field  for  the  quiet  conversation  of 
their  mother  at  her  work-table.  Mingling 
gentleness  with  decision,  she  was  able  to 
add  guidance  to  discipline.  Seizing  those 
moments  when  they  yielded  themselves 
without  prejudice  to  her  influence,  her 
speech  distilled  upon  them  as  dew  upon 
the  mown  grass.  She  never  sermonized  ; 
but  dropping  occasional  remarks  with  little 
apparent  design,  furnished  them  with 
maxims  suited  to  all  conditions  in  life. 
Let  not  the  reader  regard  these  as  mere 
common-places  uttered  to  fill  a  period. 
Who  that  looks  back  upon  the  critical  pas- 
sages ©f  his  life,  will  not  bless  God  for  the 
gift  of  a  pious    mother — feeling   that  her 


130  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OK, 

hand  has  phicked  him  from  ruin.  There 
are  seasons  of  recklessness  in  youth  when 
we  can  place  our  profane  feet  upon  every- 
thing save  a  mother's  love  ;  and  a  mother's 
love  has  often  quenched  the  fire  which 
authority  and  force  would  have  fanned  into 
a  consuming  flame.  This  pious  mother 
met  with  a  pious  mother's  reward.  Of 
her  eight  children,  four  preceded  her  to 
the  world  of  bliss  ;  four  wept  around  her 
grave  ;  but  these  four  trust  in  their  mother's 
God,  and  the  two  sons  preach  that  Jesus 
in  whom  they  believe,  and  whom  their 
mother  confessed  on  her  dying  bed. 

This  much  is  written,  not  as  the  record 
of  a  long  and  holy  life,  but  as  preparing 
for  the  sketch  of  an  unusual  experience  in 
her  last  moments.  After  years  spent  in 
close  communion  with  God  we  would 
naturally  expect  an  end  of  peace,  if  not  of 
joy;  but  rarely  on  earth  is  a  departing 
saint  permitted  to  leave  such  a  testimony, 
lighting  up  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death  with  such  a  shining  from  the, "upper 
day."   ' 


LESSONS   IN    SORROW.  I3I 

In  the  commencement  of  her  sickness 
her  hope  was  for  one  day  greatly  obscured  ; 
and  she  called  to  her  husband  and  children 
to  pray  that  Christ  would  reveal  Himself 
to  her  faith,  and  that  she  might  enjoy  the 
fullest  assurance  of  her  acceptance  with 
God.  As  may  be  anticipated,  she  came 
out  of  the  cloud,  saying  : 

"I  feel  that  your  prayers  have  been 
heard  ;  I  am  delivered  from  darkness  and 
see  and  feel  Jesus  to  be  my  Saviour." 

From  this  moment  she  rejoiced  in  an 
unclouded  assurance  of  hope  to  the  end. 
As  she  lay  often  apparently  asleep,  her 
frequent  exclamations,  "Wonderful  love!" 
"Precious  salvation!"  evinced  that  her 
soul  was  absorbed  in  adoring  views  of 
God's  love  and  mercy  in  Christ.  More 
than  once,  speaking  of  Christ  as  a  com- 
plete Saviour,  she  exclaimed  : 

"What  a  wretched  religion  the  Uni- 
tarian has — he  has  no  God  for  his  Saviour." 

On  one  occasion  a  portion  of  the  Eighty- 
ninth  Psalm  was  read  to  her  ;  she  responded 
with  animation   to   the   verses  which  set 


132  THE   BROKEN    HOME;    dR 

forth  the  perpetuity  of  God's  covenant 
with  His  people,  and  to  the  person  who 
prayed  she  remarked  : 

"  I  love  to  hear  you  pray,  because  you 
dwell  so  much  upon  God's  covenant — that 
is  my  hope," 

To  this  she  several  times  referred,  re- 
joicing that  God's  love  was  spontaneous, 
and  that  His  favor  was  not  doled  out  ac- 
cording to  the  measure  of  our  poor  ser- 
vices. When  asked  if  death  was  at  all 
terrible,  she  replied : 

"  Not  so  now,  but  it  may  be  otherwise 
at  the  last ;  pray  for  special  grace  in  that 
trying  moment." 

On  the  Sabbath  preceding  her  death, 
she  said  to  one  of  her  sons  who  had 
preached : 

' '  I  wish  I  could  have  heard  you  to-day ; 
you  preached  on  the  believer's  future  like- 
ness to  Christ  in  Heaven." 

He  replied:  "Mother,  you  will  soon 
know  that  mystery  fully." 

"Oh,  it  is  a  sweet  promise,"  washer 
Tmrnediate  response. 


LfeSSONS    IN    SORROW.  I33 

In  the  evening'  of  this  Sabbath,  the 
family  alone  being-  with  her,  she  asked  for 
a  hymn  to  be  sung  ;  the  words,  "  Come, 
Holy  Spirit,  Heavenly  Dove,"  were 
chosen  ;  it  must  have  been  a  foretaste  of 
Heaven  to  her,  for  at  the  end  of  each  line 
she  would  exclaim,    lifting  her  hands  : 

"  Oh,  how  sweet  !  " 

The  last  sad  day  came  at  length,  and 
gloom  settled  upon  every  face.  She  was 
told,  "You  are  very  low,  very  near  to 
death  ;"  her  calm  reply  betrayed  no  sur- 
prise : 

"I  suppose  the  doctor  has  done  his 
best ;  I  shall  soon  be  at  rest ;  how  sweet  it 
will  be  !  " 

A  few  directions  were  given  to  her 
daughters,  and  she  assumed  the  posture 
of  one  waiting  to  depart.  As  the  day 
rolled  on,  she  seemed  impatient  to  be 
gone:  "Come,  Lord  Jesus,"  "  Why  de- 
layeth  His  chariot?"  and  such  like  expres- 
sions, indicated  how  her  spirit  panted  after 
rest.      She  was  asked  : 

"  Why  are  you  anxious  to  die  ?'' 


134  THE    BROKEN    HOJIE  ;    OR 

"It  is  better  to  be  in  Heaven." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  be  in  Heaven  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  place  of  holiness  ;  that 
is  the  chief  attraction.  " 

As  the  night  was  closing  in,  shiC  said  : 

"  I  thought  all  day  the  time  was  about 
fixed  for  me  to  go." 

Being  asked  wdiat  she  thought  then,  her 
reply  was  : 

"  God  acts  like  a  Sovereign  in  His  own 
way. 

She  was  reminded  that  there  is  an  ap- 
pointed time  for  man  upon  the  earth. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "and  that 
bound  none  shall  pass." 

Being  asked  if  she  felt  that  all  was  w^ell 
with  her,  she  replied  : 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sure." 

From  this  moment  she  sank  into  what 
appeared  to  us  a  state  of  delirium,  failing 
to  recognise  any  one  around  her  or  to  re- 
spond intelligently  to  anything  said  to  her. 
During  the  hours  she  remained  in  this  con- 
dition,,many  painful  efforts  were  made  to 
recall   her   to  us — her  husband  especially 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  1 35 

took  her  hand  in  his  and  sought  a  recog- 
nition, but  in  vain.  Various  questions 
were  put,  which  sliowed  that  all  intercourse 
with  this  world  was  barred ;  she  knew 
neither  face  nor  voice  of  those  she  loved 
most  on  earth.  Appeal  after  appeal  was 
made  to  mdmor\-  and  to  every  other  faculty, 
for  one  sign  of  remembrance  ;  until  these 
fruitless  attempts  were  abandoned,  and  a 
gloomy  sihnce  settled  upon  all  within  that 
chamber  of  death.  Then  followed  a  scene 
such  as  the  writer  has  never  witnessed  be- 
fore or  since  ;  which  so  completely  changed 
his  views  concerning  the  gloom  of  the  be- 
liever's death,  that  the  recital  may  perhaps 
be  profitable  to  others.  Happening  to  be 
lying  across  the  bed  with  his  head  very 
near  to  hers,  without  any  motive  of  which 
he  was  conscious  moving  him  to  the  act, 
he  whispered  softly  in  her  ear  the  words 
of  Paul,  "There  is,  therefore,  now  no 
condemnation  to  them  which  are  in  Christ 
Jesus  ;  "  when,  to  the  amazement  of  all 
present,  she  took  the  passage  out  of  his 
mouth,  adding  the  remaining  words — "who 


136  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

walk  not  after  the  flesh,  but  after  the 
■Spirit."  It  would  be  impossible  for  any 
description  to  convey  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  this  incident ;  one  must  have 
been  able  to  contrast  it  with  the  vain  efforts 
made  through  successive  hours  to  win  one 
token  of  earthly  recognition,  to  know  what 
it  imported  to  this  sad  company.  The 
husband  was  seated  upon  a  trunk  in  the 
corner  of  the  room  ;  when  suddenly  ap- 
proaching the  bed,  he  exclaimed:  "This 
is  wonderful — try  her  with  another  verse. " 
These  words  were  whispered  in  her  ear  in 
the  softest  possible  tone,  "God  is  our 
refuge  and  strength  ;  "  when  again  she 
took  up  the  inspired  words  and  finished 
them — "  a  very  present  help  in  trouble." 
Again  it  was  whispered  to  her,  ' '  I  have 
loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love  ;  "  to 
which  she  instantly  rejoined,  "and  with 
loving-kindness  have  I  drawn  thee." 
Desiring  of  testing  how  far  she  was  alive 
to  spiritual  things,  while  dead  to  those  of 
earth,  that  involved  and  complex  passage 
in  Job  was  cited — "I   know  that  my  Re- 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  1 37 

deemer  liveth  ;"  when  to  the  wonder  of  all 
present  the  whole  context  was,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  correctly  repeated:  "And 
that  he  shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon 
the  earth  ;  and  though  after  my  skin  worms 
destroy  this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I 
see  God ;  whom  I  shall  see  for  myself,  and 
mine  eyes  shall  behold,  and  not  another." 
Penetrated  with  awe  and  weeping  for  joy, 
only  one  more  utterance  was  solicited  as 
the  expression  of  her  personal  faith  and 
hope  :  the  words  of  Paul  were  begun — "  I 
know  whom  I  have  believed;"  her  dying 
lips  concluded  the  testimony  of  an  assured 
believer,  by  instantly  adding — "and  am 
persuaded  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that 
which  I  have  committed  unto  him  against 
that  day." 

Here,  then,  is  a  soul  in  such  a  state  as 
to  be  utterly  inaccessible  to  impressions 
from  the  material  world,  while  perfectly 
open  to  those  from  the  spiritual.  Neither 
the  tendercst  domestic  ties,  nor  the  asso 
ciations  of  a  long  life,  have  power  to  recall 
her   to  earth  ;    whilst  the  sacred  language 


I3B  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

of  the  Scriptures  ri-vets  her  attention,  and 
commands  the  homage  both  of  mind  and 
heart.  There  is  but  one  solution  of  the 
case  possible  ;  and  with  the  admission  of 
this,  the  entire  mystery  disappears.  In 
this  d\-ing-  hour  the  Hoi}'  Ghost  was  finish- 
ing the  work  of  grace,  completing  the  like- 
ness of  the  saint  to  her  blessed  Head,  and 
fitting  her  for  immediate  entrance  into  the 
Avorld  of  glory.  She  was,  therefore,  ab- 
sorbed in  spiritual  themes ;  and  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Bible  was  recognised,  because 
it  coincided  with  the  current  of  thought 
and  feeling  which  was  then  indulged. 
What  seemed  to  those  around  her  couch 
to  be  delirium,  was  simply  seclusion  from 
the  world  in  which  they  moved  ;  so  that 
nothing  which  human  affection  could  sug- 
gest, gained  the  attention  for  a  moment. 
Does  not  this  explanation  of  the  case  go 
far  to  unravel  the  mysterious  incidents  of 
many  a  dying  experience  ?  Those  seraphic 
smiles  playing  over  the  face,  like  the  sheet- 
lightning  which  sports  upon  a  summer 
cloud— ^those  typical  gestures  pointing  as 


LESSONS    IN   SORROW.  1 39 

to  some  real  presence,  which  the  eye  is 
unable  to  discern — the  joyful  recognition 
of  beautiful  spirits,  who  seem  to  beckon 
the  departing-  soul  towards  the  glory  that 
is  be}'ond  :  all  these  things  so  often  recur- 
ring, and  throwing  such  awe  upon  sur- 
viving friends  as  pregnant  hints  of  the 
Eternity  at  other  times  so  far  away — may 
they  not  be  only  the  natural  expressions 
of  spiritual  desires  and  affections,  wrought 
in  the  heart  by  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  hour 
when  His  work  is  finished  on  the  human 
soul  ?  May  they  not  be  simply  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  grace  that  is  wrought  within 
the  believer,  when  he  is  "  made  meet  to 
be  partaker  of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints 
in  light?"  And  may  it  not  be  lawful  to 
conclude  that  these  cases,  which  seem  to 
us  so  rare,  are  but  t}-pes  of  all  the  rest  ? 
And  that  while  God  will  not  suffer  the 
secrets  of  the  eternal  world  to  be  betrayed 
by  any,  He  allows  these  hints  to  be  given 
of  the  luxury  in  dying  in  every  case  \\here 
the  likeness  to  Christ  is  completed,  and 
the   last   look   of   faith    is    taken    of    Him 


140  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

whom  the  soul  loveth  ? 

This,  then,  was  the  lesson  coming  out 
of  a  great  filial  sorrow,  the  blessedness  of 
death  to  the  people  of  God.  Says  the 
Apostle,  "The  sting  of  death  is  sin;" 
but  if  the  guilt  of  sin  is  cancelled,  and  its 
pollution  cleansed,  and  its  being  destroyed, 
and  its  very  presence  remov^ed,  what  then 
becomes  of  the  sting  ?  There  surely  is  a 
last  act  of  faith  before  it  is  swallowed  up 
tn  sight — a  last  tear  of  penitence,  in  which 
the  stain  is  washed  away — a  last  touch  of 
the  Spirit,  in  which  indwelling  sin  is  for- 
ever removed  and  the  transfiguration  into 
the  Redeemer's  image  is  rendered  com- 
plete. Can  imagination  conceive,  or  lan- 
guage describe,  the  joy  of  such  an  expe- 
rience ?  The  process  may  be  shut  up 
within  an  instant,  just  as  the  spirit  is  being 
released  from  its  battered  tenement  of  clay  ; 
or  it  may  be  drawn  through  hours  of  deep- 
ening sanctification,  in  which  the  believer 
shall  be  closeted  alone  with  the  blessed 
Comforter.  In  either  case,  the  believer 
shall  spring  from  earth  to  Heaven  with  the 


!  LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  I4I 

shout  of  perfect  joy,  in  the  possession  of  a 
perfected  holiness.  Whatever  the  pangs 
of  dissolution  may  appear  to  be,  they  are 
only  the  storm  which  ruffles  the  surface  of 
the  sea,  but  cannot  disturb  the  calm  of  the 
unfathomed  depths  beneath. 

There  is  no  more  fitting 'close  of  this 
sketch  than  Pope's  free  translation  of 
Hadrian's  celebrated  Latin    hymn  : 

•«  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame, 
Quit,  O  quit  this  mortal  frame  ; 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
O  the  pain,   tne  bliss  ot  dying! 
Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  tby  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

«♦  Hark  !  they  whisper,  angels  say, 
•Sister  spirit,  come  away.' 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight ; 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death? 

««  The  world  recedes,  it  disappears  ; 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes— my  ears 
Wilh  sounds  seraphic  ring; 
Lend,  lend  your  wings,  I  mount,  I  fly; 
O  Giave,  where  is  thy  victory? 
Q  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  " 


VII. 

••  Gone  home  !  Gone  home!  The  door  through  which 
she  vanished 
Closed  with  ajar,  and  left  us  here  alone. 
We  stand  without  in  tears,  forlorn  and  banished, 
Longing  to  follow  where  one  loved  has  gone." 

Five  times  "the  waters  of  a  full  cup 
had  been  wrung  out "  to  these  stricken 
parents  ;  and  five  times  they  had  said;  each 
to  the  other  :  * '  God  is  merciful — you  at 
least  are  spared."  The  supreme  sorrow 
had  not  yet  been  felt,  until  it  should  be 
written:  "He  sitteth  alone  and  keepeth 
silence,  because  he  hath  borne  it  upon  him. " 

Through  a  ministry  of  many  years  it  had 
been  his  office  to  comfort  the  bereaved, 
and  to  say,  "a  Father  of  the  fatherless, 
and  a  Judge  of  the  widows,  is  God  in  His 
holy  habitation."  Yet  the  shadow  of  one 
grief  sent  ever  the  chill  to  his  heart,  with 
the  wonder  how  it  could  be  endured.  It 
was  the  sharp  blade  cleaving  through  the 


144  THE   BROREN   HOME  ;   OR 

"dual  unity"  of  marriage,  with  but  the 
one-half  left  to  live  and  mourn.  As  quaintly 
but  impressively  described  in  a  private 
letter,  "  there  is  no  stroke  so  disorganizing 
— it  is  breaking  the  hub  of  the  wheel  and 
leaving  the  surrounding  circle  disabled  and 
dislocated."  This  was  the  lesson  to  be 
learned  in  the  final  sorrow,  liozv  one  could 
be  slain  and  live. 

.  The  Scriptures  speak  with  unutterable 
tenderness  of  "the  wife  of  thy  youth," 
and  of  "  the  wife  of  thy  covenant ;  "  yet 
romantic  as  may  be  the  love  which  greets 
the  bride,  it  is  not  the  holy  thing  into 
which  it  grows  through  the  consecration 
of  the  after  years.  The  bloom  of  youth 
may  have  faded  forever ;  instead  of  which 
may  be  the  frost  of  age  and  the  furrows  of 
care.  But  how  these  speak  of  a  long  min- 
istry of  love — of  common  joys  and  sorrows, 
with  which  a  "  stranger  intermeddleth 
not  " — of  mutual  burdens  borne,  and  mu- 
tual counsels  given — of  that  hidden  fellow- 
ship in  which  both  took  retreat  from  the 
burning    trials    and    fretting    discords    of 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW,  I45 

earth  !  In  the  Hght  of  such  memories, 
how  beautilully  transfiijured  becomes  tlie 
time-scarred  brow,  and  the  face  with  its 
seams  of  faithful  and  loving  service  ! 
Though  the  arms  may  tremble  in  the 
patriarchal  embrace  in  which  the  fervor  of 
earthly  passion  has  cooled,  there  remains 
the  grateful  remembrance  of  life-long  sym- 
pathy, of  mutual  dependence  and  care. 

"  The  heart  knoweth  his  own  bitterness" 
when  the  web  of  these  associations  is 
rudely  torn  by  the  hand  of  Death,  This 
is  the  bereavement  now  to  be  recorded.  It 
came  with  appalling  suddenr.ess  at  the  last, 
A  severe  illness  continuing  through  a  sum- 
mer and  necessitating  travel,  had  yielded 
to  medical  treatment ;  and  a  year's  delight- 
ful convalescence  gave  promise  of  ultimate 
recovery.  Alas,  that  disease  should  thus 
slumber  in  the  frame,  with  the  seeds  of 
death  planted  in  its  members  !  The  sus- 
pended blow  came  with  crushing  effect, 
after  this  brief  reprieve.  At  first  it  was 
regarded  as  the  recurrence  of  the  old  dis- 
order— shifting  its  disguise  as  it  was  baffled 


146  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

by  the  physician's  skill ;  until,  after  a 
night's  discomposure,  the  heart  ceased  to 
beat,  and  she  was  gone  !  Without  a  sus- 
picion of  immediate  danger,  she  had  time 
only  to  say,  "  I  believe  I  am  dying,"  and 
within  a  moment  came  that  far-off  look 
which  fills  the  beholder  with  awe,  as  it 
gazes  beyond  things  present  into  the  deep 
unseen.  Not  a  word  of  farewell  could  be 
spoken ;  as 

"  Closer,  closer  her  steps 

Come  to  the  dark  abysm  ; 
Closer,  death  to  her  lips 

Presses  the  awful  chrism." 

The  curtain  had  fallen  suddenly  between 
the  two  worlds — she  in  that,  and  we  in 
this.  Oh,  how  the  heart  has  ached  to 
speak  that  unspoken  word  to  her — and  to 
hear  it  spoken  back  across  that  mysterious 
border !  But  the  law  of  Faith  cannot  be 
broken  for  a  momentary  indulgence : 
*'  Blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen,  and 
yet  have  believed."     Alas,  there  are  many 

"  Who  to  the  verge  have  followed  those  they  love, 
And  on  the  insuperable  threshold  stand, 
With  cherished  names  its  speechless  calm  reprove. 
And  stretch  in  the  abyss  their  ungrasped  hand." 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  I47 

Death  has  the  strange  power  of  sanctify- 
ing all  whom  he  may  touch  ;  they  become 
to  us  as  the  angels  of  God.  The  memory 
of  them  crystallizes  into  a  living  form  un- 
substantial and  pure  as  the  light,  which 
glides  into  the  soul  and  abides  a  sweet  and 
solemn  presence  there.  Yet  partial  as  the 
hand  may  be  which  draws  this  portrait,  it 
shall  be  a  faithful  likeness  still. 

The  attention  of  a  stranger  would  be 
arrested  by  the  air  of  repose  diffused  over 
her  person.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
girlhood,  so  far  removed  from  the  giddiness 
of  the  young  coquette.  It  was  not  the 
sedateness  of  the  matron,  into  which  it  may 
have  later  grown  ;  still  less  was  it  the  slug- 
gishness of  a  stagnant  mind.  Few  enjoyed 
more  than  she  the  humorous  side  of  life, 
or  whose  sensibilities  responded  more 
quickly  to  all  that  was  gracious  and  tender. 
It  was  not  inertness,  nor  could  it  be  termed 
even  sobriety  ;  for  there  was  a  glow  in  her 
manner  which  won  to  her  side  the  young 
as  well  as  the  old.  The  word  "repose" 
alone   describes   it — and   it  made   her  so 


148  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

restful  to  others.  Whatever  cares  might 
oppress,  or  passions  disturb,  to  come  into 
her  presence  was  to  come  into  the  region 
of  calm.  It  was  like  a  breeze  from  the  sea 
which  took  the  fever  from  the  brow.  And 
so  we  learned  to  lean  upon  her,  whose 
magic  touch  could  soothe  our  ruffled  tem- 
pers into  quietness  like  her  own.  This 
above  all  others  is  the  home-attribute, 
which  makes  it  the  haven  of  rest  to  the 
weary.  It  is  this  peacefulness  throwing 
its  grateful  shade  between  us  and  the 
scorching  sun,  that  makes 

••  Domestic  happiness  the  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise  that  has  survived  the  fall." 

Hers  was  the  repose  of  a  deep,  calm  na- 
ture that  lay  beneath,  suggestive  not  of 
weakness  but  of  strength.  It  was  the  re- 
pose of  the  sea,  with  the  wind  rippling  and 
the  sunbeam  dancing  upon  it,  as  it  rested 
upon  the  quiet  depths  below.  Hers  was 
the  calmness  of  a  self-contained  nature — 
not  indifferent  to  anything  around  it,  nor 
shallow  enough  to  be  agitated  thereby ; 
but   drawing   up   from   unseen    depths    a 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  1 49 

Strength  to  be  calm  amidst  earthly  storms. 
A  masterly  will  held  her  at  anchor  amidst 
the  drifting  tides.  Her  convictions  of  truth 
and  duty  were  unalterable,  for  they  were 
rooted  in  the  foundations  of  her  own  being. 
This  resulted  from  the  independence  which 
would  take  no  opinions  upon  trust,  but 
cast  them  into  the  mould  of  her  own 
thought — and  for  which  she  was  always 
prepared  to  render  a  reason.  Her  opinions 
ripened  thus  into  convictions,  and  these 
into  principles  which  became  to  her  the 
rule  of  conduct.  But  in  this  there  was  no 
offensive  self-assertion.  Her  independence 
never  degenerated  into  dogmatism,  nor  her 
will  into  wilfulness.  Her  convictions  were 
for  herself,  to  be  the  guide  of  her  own 
actions. 

In  the  calm  of  a  nature  thus  self-poised 
there  lay  a  quiet  force,  which  went  forth 
with  a  silent  yet  magnetic  control  of  all 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact.  Its  pres- 
sure was  like  that  of  the  atmosphere,  so 
equal  on  every  side  as  scarcely  to  be  re- 
cognised.     Like  the  forces  in  the  material 


150  THE    BROKEN   HOME;    OR 

world,  it  was  the  more  irrestible  from  the 
silence  with  which  it  moved.  It  overcame 
before  its  presence  was  suspected,  and  its 
gentleness  disarmed  opposition.  There 
was  no  circle  in  which  this  quiet  supremacy 
was  not  gained.  In  her  household  it  was 
an  influence  pervading  every  department 
of  service,  with  a  sort  of  omnipresence 
which  dispensed  with  the  necessity  of  per- 
sonal inspection  anywhere.  It  was  an 
ascendancy  from  force  of  character,  so 
restful  in  its  quietness  that  all  leaned  upon 
it  in  the  hour  of  trial.  It  was  the  queenly 
trait  in  her  career,  that  rose  with  the 
emergencies  which  called  it  forth.  In  the 
deep  sorrows  through  which  she  passed, 
her  calm  submission  was  an  angel's  strength 
to  all  around  her ;  whilst  in  each,  she 
mounted  to  a  higher  trust  in  Him  who 
was  preparing  her  for  the  eternal  rest. 

The  virtues,  as  well  as  the  vices,  grow 
together  in  the  cluster.  It  will  occasion 
no  surprise  that  transparent  honesty 
marked  the  character  just  depicted.  Her 
truthfulness    was    so    punctilious,    that    it 


LESSONS   IN   SORROW.  151 

stumbled  even  over  the  social  courtesies 
in  which  the  slightest  prevarication  was 
implied.  And  the  strategy  was  sometimes 
amusing,  which  substituted  a  judicious 
silence  for  the  conventionalisms  in  which 
the  charge  of  falsehood  can  be  evaded  only 
by  construing  them  as  unmeaning.  This 
sincerity  was,  however,  accompanied  with 
such  grace  of  manner  as  never  to  seem 
harsh  or  brusque  ;  whilst  it  had  the  advan- 
tage of  securing  that  measure  of  confidence 
which  is  accorded  only  to  perfect  honesty 
of  mind  and  heart.  She  was  thus  the 
truest  of  the  true  ;  and  so  carried  her  heart 
in  her  hand,  that  her  speech  was  ever  the 
echo  of  her  thought. 

She  possessed  in  unusual  degree  the 
womanly  instinct  of  penetrating  the  char- 
acter of  those  with  whom  she  was  suddenly 
brought  in  contact.  In  using  this  term, 
instinct,  no  metaphysical  analysis  is  de- 
signed. If  it  be  a  process  of  reasoning, 
its  method  is  too  subtle  and  rapid  to  be 
easily  traced  ;  and  it  seems  to  move  with 
the  certaintv  of  an  instinct.      But  whether 


152  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

reason  or  instinct,  it  is  a  kindly  gift  of 
Providence  for  woman's  protection  amid 
the  snares  of  life.  Unless  a  false  glare  has 
captured  her  fancy,  this  penetrating  insight 
into  others  seldom  deceives  ;  and  after  the 
great  peril  of  marriage  is  passed,  and  the 
instinct  is  evoked  for  the  benefit  of  her 
household,  it  becomes  the  faithful  sentinel 
whose  timely  warning  it  is  safe  to  heed. 
This  gift  of,  not  second,  but  first  sight 
must  of  course  be  supplemented  by  a  sound 
judgment,  in  order  to  form  a  judicious 
counsellor  ;  and  when  to  both  is  added  the 
discretion  which  tells  when  to  be  silent 
and  when  to  speak,  all  the  elements  are 
combined  which  made  the  subject  of  this 
sketch  the  most  trustworthy  of  friends. 
Her  perceptions  were  so  clear  that  her 
judgment  of  men  had  seldom  to  be  revised  ; 
and  her  prudence  was  so  consummate,  that 
in  no  instance  was  the  confidence  reposed 
in  her  ever  betrayed. 

The  modesty  of  nature  prompts  us  to 
throw  a  veil  of  reserve  over  the  feelings 
which-  are   sacred.       It   is   not   easy,    for 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  1 53 

example,  to  speak  to  others  of  the  domestic 
affections ;  and  it  must  be  a  fit  occasion 
that  justifies  the  revelation.  Hence  the 
difficulty  of  tracing  another's  religious 
histor}',  which  must,  to  a  large  extent, 
remain  a  secret  between  the  soul  and  God. 
Certainly  with  those  constitutionally  re- 
serv'ed,  the  inner  life  can  only  be  discov- 
ered as  it  is  revealed  in  the  outward  char- 
acter and  walk.  It  is  thus  we  are  forced 
to  estimate  the  piety  of  her  to  whom  this 
tribute  of  love  is  paid.  Her  spiritual 
exercises  must  be  interpreted  to  us  through 

'•Those  thousand  decencies  that  daily  flowed 
From  all  her  words  and  actions." 

Her  habit  was  to  spend  the  early  morn- 
ing hour  in  devotion,  before  others  of  the 
household  were  awake — a  habit  dating 
back  to  the  period  of  her  marriage  at  an 
early  age.  Thus  she  entered  upon  the 
duties  of  the  day  fresh  from  communion 
with  God,  and  her  face  shining  like  that  of 
Moses  when  he  came  down  from  the 
Mount. 

The    successive    bereavements    through 


154  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

which  she  passed,  already  detailed,  purified 
her  spirit  and  lent  new  attractions  to  the 
eternal  home  in  which  her  children  were 
gathered.  The  sadness  of  her  heart  was 
not  allowed,  however,  to  throw  its  gloom 
over  the  house  in  which  a  younger  genera- 
tion of  grandchildren  were  growing  up 
around  her.  Life  must,  at  least,  be  kept 
free  from  bitterness  for  them,  who  should 
in  their  time  have  sorrows  of  their  own. 
Yet  it  was  easy  to  see  that  in  lonely  and 
pensive  hours  her  communings  were  with 
another  world,  and  that  she  was  ripening 
for  her  own  translation.  A  gracious  inti- 
mation of  this  was  afforded  in  the  severe 
illness  previously  mentioned,  better  under- 
stood by  her  than  by  us  who  were  so  un- 
willing to  look  to  the  end  ;  and  in  the  year's 
subsequent  reprieve  her  watchfuhiess  was 
not  for  an  instant  remitted.  Expressions 
dropped  daily  from  her  lips,  the  signifi- 
cance of  which  we  failed  to  recognise  ;  and 
a  hundred  little  actions  have  since  been 
recalled,  which  showed  her  departure 
always   before    her    mind.       Though    the 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  I55 

summons  came  suddenly  at  the  last,  our 
surprise  was  not  hers.  With  her  lamp 
trimmed,  and  waiting  for  the  coming  of 
her  Lord,  she  was  ready  to  enter  in  ano 
sit  at  the  Marriage  Feast. 

•'  To  her  it  was  not  more  than  the  sudden  lifting  of  a 

latch. 
Nought  but  a  step  into  the  open  air  out  of  a  tent 
Already  luminous  with  light  that  shines  through 

its  transparent  folds." 

The  following  extract  from  a  memorial 
paper  adopted  by  an  Association  of  .Chris- 
tian Ladies  over  which  she  presided,  will 
show  how  she  was  embalmed  in  their  affec- 
tions : 

"  Nearly  twenty  years  ago  quite  a  num- 
ber of  us  organized  ourselves  together  for 
the  purpose  of  benevolent  and  Christian 
labors  ;  and  she  by  whose  vacant  seat  we 
now  stand  to-day  with  such  sorrowful  hearts, 
was  chosen  from  among  us  to  be  our  guide, 
our  counsellor  and  our  leader — and  we 
called  her  President. 

"  ]\Iany  of  us  were  just  entering  upon 
life's   morning,   the  future  all  glorious  be- 


15^  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR 

fore  us,  with  the  rainbow  of  hope  undimmed 
by  sorrow's  touch.      Others  were  already 
bearing  the  heat  and  burden   of  the  day, 
and  were  oft-times  weary  with  the  load  of 
care.    And,  again,  there  were  those  whose 
eyes  were  turned  to  the  brighter  and  more 
perfect  day,   but  whose  feet  were  oft-times 
tottering  and  very  feeble.      But  to  one  and 
all,  of  every  age,  our  President  was  a  day- 
spring   of  joy — ever  rejoicing  with  those 
that  did  rejoice,   and  weeping  with   those 
that  wept.     In  sorrow  and  in  trial  she  ever 
strengthened  by  her  counsel,  and  cheered 
by  her  sympathy,  herself  bearing  a  part  of 
our  burden.      As  a  Society,  we  sometimes 
halted  by   the    way ;    or  like  a  streamlet 
with  rippled,  ruffled  surface,  made  murmur 
as  we  moved  ;  until  with  one  common  im- 
pulse we  would  throw  all  the  trouble  over 
on  the  broad,    calm,    deep    nature — whose 
serious  depth  we  then,   alas  !  but  partially 
understood  ;    but  now   has   come  the  full 
knowledge  of  its  power  and  of  our  great 
loss,     .We  know  her  as  she  was — strong, 
yet  gentle  ;  firm,  but  tender ;  a  true  Chris- 


Lessons  in  sorrow.  157 

tian,  with  every  womanly  virtue.  *  *  * 
In  her  beautiful  womanhood,  during  all 
these  years  she  went  in  and  out  among  us, 
always  looked  for,  always  welcomed,  ever 
at  her  post,  until  the  dawning  of  that  day 
when  it  was  said,  '  she  sleeps ;  '  and  from 
that  sleep  we  may  not  awaken  her.  But 
there  is  a  forward  looking,  and  an  upward  ; 
and  may  we  not  pray  that  her  mantle  cover 
us ;  and  that  with  united  and  renewed 
strength  we  follow  on  where  she  would 
have  led — even  as  she  would  now  say  to 
us,   '  Come  up  higher.'" 

«« 'Tis  only  when  they  spring  to  heaven  that  angels 
Reveal  themselves  to  you ;  they  sit  all  day 
Beside  you,  and  lie  down  at  night  by  you. 
Who  care  not  for  their  presence — muse  or  sleep — 
And  all  at  once  they  leave  you  and  you  know  them." 

But  what  a  sarcasm  it  is  upon  the  wis-. 
dom  of  man,  that  his  treasures  should  be 
known  only  through  their  loss!  (^The 
separation  came  after  the  sweet  possession 
of  seven  and  forty  years,  and  left  us  bank- 
rupt.    It   was   a  sorrow  wholly  by  itself. 


158  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

What  is  to  be  done  with  a  love  which 
belongs  only  to  one,  when  that  one  is 
gone  and  cannot  take  it  up  ?  It  cannot 
perish,  for  it  has  become  part  of  our  own 
being.  What  shall  we  do  with  a  lost  love, 
which  wanders  like  a  ghost  through  all  the 
chambers  of  the  soul,  only  to  feel  how 
empty  they  are  ?  There  may  be  those 
about  us  who  are  very  dear ;  but  this  love 
cannot  be  divided  among  them,  for  it  is 
incapable  of  distribution.  What  remains 
but  to  send  it  upward,  until  it  finds  her  to 
whom  it  belongs  by  right  of  concentration 
for  more  than  forty  years.  In  the  un- 
selfishness of  love  we  wish  her  joy  in  her 
immortal  ascension,  willing  ourselves  to 
take  the  loss  that  hers  may  be  the  ever- 
lastmg^amj 

The  richest  grace,  does  it  not  lie  in  the 
heaviest  sorrow?  Was  it  not  in  "the 
burning  fiery  furnace  "  the  three  Hebrew 
children  saw  "  the  form  of  the  fourth,  like 
the  Son  of  God,"  walking  in  the  midst  of 
the  fire  ?  It  was  when  "  Moses  drew  near 
to  the   thick   darkness   where  God  was," 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  I  59 

that  he  spake  with  Him  face  to  face  and 
heard  His  voice.  And  liow  often  it  is  in 
"the  thick  darkness"  Jehovah  reveals  Him- 
self as  the  Comforter  of  His  people  !  The 
cloud  which  settles  down  upon  a  desolate 
home,  He  graciously  fills  with  His  own 
presence:  we  find  it  to  be  "  secret  of  His 
Tabernacle,"  the  "  pavilion  "  in  which  He 
"  will  show  His  Covenant."  The  Divine 
love  breaks  through  the  gloom,  as  once  it 
burst  through  the  terrors  of  Sinai  and  the 
darkness  of  Calvary.  It  is  not  what  we  would 
liave  chosen  ;  but  in  this  dark  cloud  we 
learn  that  it  is  best  sometimes  to  be  alone 
with  Him.  The  earthly  lights  are  put  out, 
that  no  earthly  love  may  come  in  between 
Him  and  us.  It  is  the  miracle  of  love — 
this  stringing  of  the  harp  to  a  greater 
tension,  that  the  praise  may  hereafter  rise 
to  liigher  and  sweeter  notes  before  the 
Throne,  when  we  shall  carry  the  memories 
of  earth  to  Heaven  and  pour  them  into 
song  forever.  May  it  be  the  finishing  les- 
son of  the  one  great  sorrow  near  the  end 
of  life — how  thrpugh  the  few   remaining 


l6o  THE    BROKEN    HOME;     OR 

days  to  be  "  quiet  as  a  child  that  is  weaned 
of  his  mother;"  and  to  know  the  sufficiency 
of  the  Divine  fuhiess,  before  it  becomes 
the  joy  and  the  portion  of  Heaven  ! 

MIZPAH — Genesis  xxxi.  4g. 

"  We  never  used  the  word,  while  thou  and  I 

Walked  close  together  in  life's  working  way; 
There  was  no  need  for  it,  when  hand  and  eye 
Might  meet  content  and  faithful  every  day. 

"  Put  now  with  anguish  from  a  stricken  heart, 

Mizpah  I  cry  ;  the  Lord  keep  watch  between 
Thy  life  and  mine,  that  death  has  riven  apart ; 

Thy  life  beyond  the  awful  veil  unseen. 
And  my  poor  broken  being,  which  must  glide 

Through  ways  familiar  to  us  both,  till  death 
Shall  of  a  surety  lead  me  to  thy  side, 

Beyond  the  chance  and  change  of  mortal  breath. 
Mizpah  !     Yea,  Lord,  in  all  my  bitter  pain 
I  trust  God  keepeth  watch  betwixt  us  twain. 

•*  Thy  lips  are  dumb  from  which  I  used  to  he^r 

Strong  words  of  counsel,  tender  woris  of  praise  ; 
But  I  must  go  my  way,  without  the  cheer 

And  sunshine  of  thy  presence,  all  my  days. 
But  God  keep  watch  my  ways  and  days  upon, 

On  all  I  do,  on  all  I  bear,  ior  thee  ; 
My  work  is  left  me,  though  my  mate  is  gone  ; 

A  solemn  trust  has  been  bequeathed  to  me. 
I  take  the  task  thy  languid  hand  laid  down 

That  wintry  morning,  for  mine  own  alway  ; 
And  may  the  Giver  of  both  Cross  and  Crown 

Pronounce  me  faithful  on  our  meeting  day. 
Mizpah  !   i    j  word  gives  comfort  to  my  pain  ; 
I  know  God  keepeth  watch  betwixt  us  twain." 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  l6l 

The  following  lines  are  here  appended  ; 
which  first  appeared  anonymously,  many 
years  ago,  in  Blackwood's  Magazine. 
They  are  singularly  appropriate  at  the 
close  of  all  these  sketches: 


'•The   veil  has  dropped.     Her  spirit  now 
Intense  with  life,  hath  soared  above; 
And  dwelleth  where  the  seraphs  bow, 
And  sing  their  holy  hymns  of  love. 
The  seed  hath  sprung  into  a  tree  ; 
The  flower  hath  burst  its  bud,    the   immortal   soul  is 
free. 


♦'  Oh,  death  is  full  of  life.     Naught  dies 
But  that  which  should.    Earth  takes  its  own. 
That  the  eternal  may  arise 
And  dwell  by  the  eternal  throne. 

Depth  is  the  full  outshining  light 

Of  that  unending  morn,  which  knows  no  night. 


'•  Death  can  but  take  his  own.     The  earth 
Can  only  ask  what  she  did  give  ; 
Then  let  the  Heaven-born  mind  have   birth. 
That  it  eternally  may  live. 

Oh,  let  it  cast  its  outer  frame, 

And  rise  a  living  soul  to  Him  from  whom  it  came. 


1 62  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OR 

"  Gaze  on  that  form.     Nay,  lift  thine  eye 
And  gaze  above.     She  is  not  here  ; 
She  hath  arisen  to  worlds  on  high, 
And  dwelleth  in  a  purer  sphere. 
This  frame  of  dust  she  hath  laid  down. 
To  gain  a  robe  of  light  and  a  celestial  crown. 

"  The  veil  has  dropped.     Her  inward  eye 
Has  seen  the  mysteries  of  God  ; 
And  onward  through  the  star-paved  sky 
Mid  Heaven's  bright  glory  she  has  trod : 

Angels  are  guiding  her  along. 

While  her  sweet  voice  unites  in  their  triumphal  song.' 


CONCLUSION. 

Nothing  is  needed  to  complete  the  pre- 
ceding story  but  this  additional  note. 

Of  the  eight  who  once  gathered  within 
this  now  broken  home,  two  alone  remain 
under  the  shadow  of  a  common  grief. 
One  elder  sister  is  spared,  who  watched 
beside  the  couch  and  closed  the  eyes  of 
the  other  four  that  have  gone  up  to.  sit  in 
the  "golden  chairs" — spared  to  a  sweet 
ministry  of  love  during  a  mother's  failing 
years^ — still  longer  spared  to  assuage  a 
father's  loneliness  and  grief. 

The  house  is  not  cheerless  even  in  its  sor. 
row.  The  voices  of  a  younger  generation 
resound  within  its  chambers — so  full  of 
hope  that  they  make  a  future  even  for  the 
old.  Better  than  all,  the  light  of  that  love 
which  says,  "  I  have  chosen  thee  in  the 
furnace  of  affliction,"  breaks  through  the 
gloom  ;  and,  like  a  star,  guides  those  who 


164  THE    BROKEN    HOME;    OK 

weep  to  Him  upon  the  Throne   who  shall 
wipe  away  the  tears. 

"  Blessed  be  God,  even  the  Father  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  Father  of  mer- 
cies, and  the  God  of  all  comfort ;  who 
comforteth  us  in  all  our  tribulation,  that 
we  may  be  able  to  comfort  them  which  are 
in  any  trouble,  by  the  comfort  wherewith 
we  ourselves  are  comforted  of  God." 

"  After  this  I  beheld,  and  lo,  a  great 
multitude,  which  no  man  could  number, 
of  all  nations,  and  kindreds,  and  people, 
and  tongues,  stood  before  the  Throne,  and 
before  the  Lamb,  clothed  with  white  robes, 
and  palms  in  their  hands.  *  ^  *  And  one 
of  the  Elders  answered,  saying  unto  me. 
What  are  these  which  are  arrayed  in  white 
robes?  and  whence  came  they?  And  I 
said  unto  him,  Sir,  thou  knowest.  And 
he  said  to  me,  These  are  they  which  came 
out  of  great  tribulation,  and  have  washed 
their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb.  Therefore  are  they 
before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  Him 
day  and  night  in  His  temple  :  and  He  that 


LESSONS    IN    SORROW.  1 65 

sitteth  on  the  Throne  shall  feed  them. 
They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst 
an\"  more  ;  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on 
them,  nor  an)-  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which 
is  in  the  midst  of  the  Throne  .shall  feed 
them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living 
fountains  of  waters  ;  and  God  shall  wipe 
away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

"  O,  city  of  the  jasper  wall, 

And  of  the  pearly  gate  ! 
For  thee,  amid  the  storms  of  life. 

Our  weary  spirits  wait. 
We  long  to  walk  the  streets  of  gold 

No  mortal  feet  have  trod  ; 
We  long  to  worship  at  the  shrine. 

The  temple  of  our  God  ! 
O  home  of  bliss  !     O  land  of  light  ! 
Where  falleth  neither  shade  nor  blight — 
Of  every  land  the  biightest,  best — 
When  shall  we  there  find  peace  and  rest  ? 

•'  O  city  where  they  need  no  light 

Of  sun,  or  moon  or  star, 
Could  we  with  eye  of  faith  but  see 

How  bright  thy  mansions  are. 
How  soon  our  doubts  would  fly  away  ! 

How  strong  our  trust  would  grow, 
,         Until  our  hearts  should  lean  no  more 

On  trifles  here  below  ! 
O  home  of  bliss!     O  land  of  light! 
Where  falleih  neither  shade  nor  blight — 
Of  every  land  the  brightest,   best — 
When  shall  we  there  find  peace  and  rest  ? 


l66  THE    BROKEN    HOME  ;    OR, 

'*  O  city  where  the  shining  gates 

Shut  out  all  grief  and  sin, 
Well  may  we  yearn  amidst  earth's  strile 

Thy  holy  peace  to  win  ! 
Yet  must  we  meekly  bear  the  cross. 

Nor  seek  to  lay  it  down 
Until  our  Father  brings  us  home 

And  gives  the  promised  crown. 
O  home  of  bliss  !     O  land  of  light ! 
Where  falleth  neither  shade  nor  blight — 
Of  every  land  the  brightest,  best  — 
Soon  shall  we  there  find  peace  and  rest." 


